Making it Alone
by Hank's Lady
Summary: Rob Meecham, a new resident in the apartment block, finds himself helping troubled Arthur Fleck after the man is beaten by three drunken fools on a train. The more Rob learns, the more he realises Arthur needs more help than he's able to offer. Unlike the movie, Arthur does not become Joker or kill anyone, all he seeks is love and understanding. M/M Arthur/OC.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Maniacal laughter echoed down the hallway as I got out of the lift. I paused, glancing left towards the door at the end and wondering who lived in the apartment behind it. I'd never seen him or her, only heard them from time to time, like now.

Another screech of hysteria reached my ears, then a rhythmic thumping noise like someone punching or knocking on something. Frowning, I turned right and made my way to the other end of the corridor and my own apartment. As I passed the other doors, one opened and a young woman stepped out, holding the hand of a small girl.

"Hey, Sophie." I stopped again to pass the time of day. She was the only other resident on the floor I'd spoken with since I moved in a month ago.

"Hello, Robert." A bright smile lit her face. "Finished for the day?"

"Yeah, long shift." I suppressed a yawn. "How's things with you?"

"Good, thank you. We're on our way out to see my mother."

The banging at the other end of the corridor continued. Sophie's smile slid into a frown, and she turned her head towards the closed door. "That freak down there's off again."

"Who is it?"

"You haven't met him, then?"

I shook my head.

"He introduced himself once. Name's Arthur. He lives in there with his sick mother. Complete psycho."

"Arthur or the mother?" I queried.

"Him. Laughing at all hours of the day and night. Crazy." She rolled her eyes. "Scary, too. He followed me once, all the way back from the station. Never said a word, just walked after me, and if I stopped and looked around, he stopped and stared up at the sky." She shuddered and her daughter made a face. "I'd steer clear if I were you."

I shrugged. "Well, I've never seen him, so…" Another shrug. "If you get any trouble, let me know."

"Thanks, Robert."

"Rob," I corrected.

She smiled again. "Rob. I'll see you."

I watched as they went to get in the lift, then continued to my door. The apartment at the other end of the corridor was silent again.

I saw him that weekend. It was Saturday afternoon and I'd finished my six-hour half shift, giving me the rest of the day and Sunday off to rest. I went out to buy groceries, and when I returned, he was waiting for the lift. He punched the button repeatedly, muttering under his breath and also clutching a bag of groceries. I didn't know if was him, of course. Not at that moment.

"It'll turn up in a minute," I said pleasantly.

He turned to look at me and stopped pressing the button. "Stupid thing gets slower every day. Everything in this block needs work."

"I know."

"You're new here," he stated. "Moved in last month?"

"Yes. I'm Rob Meecham." I shifted the grocery bags to my other hand and offered mine to him to shake.

He stared at my hand, unblinking, as if he thought it might bite him. Then, gingerly, he reached out, touched my fingertips, and snatched his hand back. "Arthur." He cleared his throat and looked up at my face again. "Arthur Fleck. I live on the same floor as you. At the other end."

I nodded. So this was the man Sophie called "psycho" and "freak." He seemed fairly ordinary to me, if a little nervous. He was an inch or so shorter than my six foot one, and so thin his clothes hung on him the way they would on a coat-hanger. Brown collar length hair waved gently around his face, and green eyes were framed by long dark lashes. I estimated him to be somewhere in his mid-thirties, like me.

"How long have you lived here?" I asked to make conversation as we waited for the lift, now rumbling above as it descended.

"Four years, three months, one week, and two days," he said precisely, then glanced at a cheap plastic wristwatch and added, "and three hours." He raised one eyebrow and sneered. "It's a shithole."

"Yes, I know. Needs must, I suppose." I certainly wasn't delighted with my new home, but it was all I could manage after the past couple of years. The divorce had given my bank-account a battering and she'd taken me to court for more. I suppose I couldn't blame her after what I did.

"One day," Arthur said, turning away to stare at the lift door. His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "One day if I make it I can move somewhere better. One day."

"What do you do?" I asked.

"I'm a clown." The door slid open. He went to stand in the far corner and stared at his feet. I didn't know how to respond to his last statement, and merely stood beside him, punched the button to our floor, and waited as the lift lumbered back up. Arthur didn't speak again either, and when we reached our floor, he charged out into the corridor and almost ran to his door without looking back. Before I'd reached my door, he'd unlocked his, disappeared inside, and slammed it after him with a resounding crash.

I didn't see him or hear him again for a week. His apartment remained silent. I saw Sophie a couple of times and as usual, I got the impression she was hoping I might ask her out. That was never going to happen, but I wasn't forward enough to come out and tell her why in case I was wrong about her. Then I'd look like a fool. So she half flirted when we talked, and I ignored it.

I kept thinking about Arthur and wondering about him. Was he really crazy like Sophie said? What was the hysterical laughter about? Perhaps part of his act if he was a clown. He might be a totally normal guy. But I could hardly go and knock on his door for a chat to try to learn more. We'd only met once.

Friday, I finished work at eight and got on the underground. The carriage I chose was unusually quiet, with only six other occupants, three of these laughing and joking, clearly having had a few drinks. Two of the others got off after a couple of stops, and one other person got on—a clown. At least it was a person in a clown outfit, with a made-up face, wig with a bald white scalp and green hair, and enormous rubber shoes. His frame was extremely thin and I wondered if it was Arthur. He didn't seem to notice me, and sat in a corner at the other end of the carriage, hands pressed together between his knees.

The three tipsy guys began to make fun of a lady sitting opposite, making lewd comments and laughing. She cringed and shrank back in her seat. I blew out a breath and got ready to go to her aid. I was too much of a Good Samaritan sometimes. Then, much to my disbelief, the clown revealed he was indeed Arthur, by beginning to laugh hysterically at the woman's plight. My jaw dropped and I stared, shocked, as he laughed and screeched, rocking back and forth in his seat.

The laughter had the effect of drawing the three guys' attention away from the woman, and they all got up. The train stopped, the woman got off, and the doors closed. I hesitated as the trio approached Arthur, demanding what was so funny as he sat there, still laughing in that crazed way of his. Shit.

What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. One of the guys grabbed Arthur's wig and snatched it from his head. Another got hold of his arm and dragged him from his seat, and the third one kicked him in the stomach. The other two immediately joined in, kicking and laughing, as he curled into a ball on the floor, now silent, not even crying out in pain as they laid into him.

I leaped up and charged down the carriage. "Leave him alone!" I bellowed, and yanked the nearest guy away from the huddled figure on the floor.

"Fuck off! The clown's insane. He deserves everything he gets," one of the others responded.

I swung my fist and hit him in the face. The third guy delivered a final kick to Arthur's back, then moved to the door as the train slowed for its next stop. All three left, laughing in a similar fashion to Arthur. Then the doors closed, leaving only him and me in the carriage. I crouched down and touched his shoulder.

"Arthur? It's me, Rob. Can you get up?" I moved my hand to his arm to help him, but he pulled free and wrapped it around himself, panting and letting out bizarre little cackles of laughter. "Arthur, come on. It's our stop next."

Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself up, ignoring my offer of help and leaning on the nearby seat as he struggled to his feet. I got up and caught him as the train lurched and he almost fell. He crashed against my chest and rested there for a brief second, then jerked free with a giggle. I didn't know what to do. If he raged, or cried, or moaned in pain, I'd know how to respond. But the laughter was disconcerting. Maybe Sophie was right after all. He was crazy. The way he'd laughed at the poor woman a few minutes ago was indication enough.

I tried one more time and rested my hand on his arm. "Arthur, let me help you."

He turned sad eyes on me, innocuous in his white painted face with its blue diamond eyes and huge bright red smile, and nodded slowly. "Okay." His knees buckled and when I caught him again, he let me hold onto him. I wrapped an arm around him, tucking my hand in his armpit to keep him on his feet as I led him off the train onto the platform.

"Do you want me to find us a cab?" I suggested.

"No." He shook his head. "I can walk." Slowly, he pulled away from me again, took two steps, and collapsed on the platform.

"Arthur!" I dropped to my knees at his side, and rested a hand on his shoulder as he curled up on his side. "Jesus, you'd better let me take a look at you."

"No."

"I'm a nurse, Arthur. I know what I'm doing. You're hurt."

"Nurses are girls." He laughed. And laughed, verging on hysteria again, until eventually it came to an end and he fell silent, gasping.

"Not all of them," I said quietly. "You could have broken ribs. Internal bleeding. Anything. Where does it hurt?"

He didn't answer, but pulled a laminated card out of his jacket pocket and passed it to me. It explained he suffered from a condition that caused uncontrollable laughter or tears. I didn't know very much about mental health—I worked in ER—but I'd talked to colleagues and I had heard of these symptoms. I gave him the card back. It certainly explained why he'd laughed on the train. It hadn't been amusement at that woman's plight—only horror or fear that his condition caused him to express inappropriately.

"Arthur, tell me where it hurts."

"My back."

"Can I look?"

"Yes." He closed his eyes and lay still.

I glanced around. The platform was deserted. "You need to sit up. Carefully." I helped him rise, and he sat with knees drawn up, eyes still closed. I slid his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. He pulled his hands free and without waiting for me to ask, began unbuttoning his shirt. When it was off, I bit back a gasp of horror.

I'd known he was thin, but with his shirt off, his skeletal appearance appalled me. He appeared severely malnourished, skin stretched tight over a protruding rib-cage, stomach concave, every knob on his spine visible, and shoulder blades jutting out. I examined his back, noting the beginnings of two large bruises, one behind his right shoulder and the other lower on his left side.

"I need to check your ribs. Okay?"

"Just a minute." He opened his eyes and fumbled with his jacket, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one and took a long drag, blowing the smoke out of his nose. Then he nodded.

Carefully, I felt my way over his ribs, causing him to flinch and jump at every touch. "It's all right," I said. "You're all right."

"Am I?" He snorted more smoke from his nose.

"Physically, it's just bruising. You'll be stiff and sore, but nothing's broken." I helped him put his shirt back on. He finished his cigarette, fastened the shirt, and picked up his jacket. He wouldn't allow me to help him get to his feet, but he leaned on me heavily and smoked another cigarette as we walked the three blocks to the apartments. When we got in the lift, he rested against the wall and closed his eyes.

I wanted to do something more to help, but I didn't know what, or how. He had problems I couldn't even begin to guess at, but his thinness worried me. I'd only ever seen one person that thin before. My sister had been anorexic, and she died of heart failure aged just forty. I didn't know if Arthur had the same problem, but something made him look half starved. I wanted to ask him out just so I could see him eat.

The lift stopped at our floor and the door opened. I stepped out and waited for Arthur to join me. He took one step in the direction of his apartment, then stopped abruptly. "I can't go home like this. My mother will be upset."

"Come to my place," I offered. "You can get cleaned up, have a drink and something to eat if you want."

"You don't have to do that. You've already done too much."

"I'm your neighbour. I could be your friend, Arthur, if you let me," I said. "We don't know each other, but it doesn't mean we can't get to know each other. If you want to."

"I don't have any friends." He pulled out his cigarettes and lit another as we stood in the corridor.

"Nor do I, really."

"You talk to Sophie." He glanced at her closed door. "She likes you."

"We pass the time of day when we run into each other. I've never seen you around, though, when I've spoken to her."

Arthur grinned suddenly, weirdly creepy with his painted face and smeared red smile. It would have almost been a normal grin if not for the makeup. "I see a lot. Sometimes I'm around and no one notices. Do you like her?"

"Not like that."

"Oh." His brow wrinkled. "Why not?"

"She's, um, not my type. Are you coming?" I gestured down the corridor towards my door, and he nodded.

"Do you mind if I smoke? I mean, in there?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

He nodded, dropped the partly smoked cigarette on the floor, and crushed it under a large red rubber shoe. "Sorry. They calm me down."

We walked slowly to my door and I unlocked it. I led the way inside, but Arthur halted on the threshold. "Why isn't Sophie your type?"

I glanced past him, hoping the object of our conversation hadn't appeared and started to listen. "Arthur, it's not really something I want to talk about right now."

He stared at me. "Don't you think she's pretty?"

"Do you?" I frowned, wanting to get away from the subject. I didn't know if I should talk to him like I would anyone else, or whether I had to tread on eggshells for fear of upsetting him or bringing on a fit of laughter. I certainly didn't want to get into why I didn't find Sophie attractive.

"I suppose. I don't really notice."

"Well, nor do I."

"All right." He nodded. "I should go home."

"You said you didn't want to, because your mother would be upset," I reminded him.

The effect of my words was like flipping a switch. His face crumpled, but rather than explode into hysterical laughter, he burst into tears and sobbed loudly, covering his face with both hands.

"Arthur, I'm sorry. Shit, come inside." I drew him into the apartment, closed the door, and steered him into the living room. I guided him to the couch and he sat down slowly, lowered his hands from his face, and wrapped his arms around himself. The white paint on his face had run and merged into blue and red, then purple rivulets had soaked into his collar. His tears continued to spill over, further merging the colours down his neck.

"Sorry," he snuffled. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Let's get this paint off you." I hurried to fetch a wet cloth and a towel from the bathroom. When I offered them to him, he just stared at me and repeated "Sorry," over and over.

I wiped the face paint off, gradually revealing his skin underneath until every smear was gone. When I finished by rubbing the fluffy towel over his wet skin, he grabbed it in both hands and buried his face in it.

"Arthur? You want some coffee? Tea?" I offered. "I've been at work for twelve hours. I'm going to have some. Food, too. Are you hungry?"

"No." His voice was muffled by the towel.

"You're not hungry?"

"No." He lowered the towel.

"When did you last eat?"

"I can't remember. Maybe yesterday."

"Will you have something with me? A snack or something?" I suggested.

"I'm not a child," he snapped suddenly. "I take care of my mother."

"I know that, but do you have anyone taking care of you when you need it?"

"I take care of myself. I have a social worker, although I might as well not have. She asks me the same damn questions every week. Did I have any negative thoughts today? All I have are negative thoughts!"

I sensed I was dealing with someone in much greater need of help than I'd first thought, and I doubted I could do anything of any use, but I still tried. I called out for pizza so I wouldn't have to leave him and spend time in the kitchen cooking. I made some coffees, and loaded his with sugar when he asked. Then I talked, about anything I could think of that might engage him. I started with my work, amusing stories about some of the patients I'd treated that week, and a couple of disasters that had occurred. At first, he barely responded, only sipped his coffee and stared at me. Gradually, something I said about a patient throwing up on a student doctor's shoes made him laugh—not a wild hysterical laugh, but a normal laugh of amusement.

The pizza arrived thirty minutes later. I'd ordered a large, half margarita, one-quarter meat feast, and one-quarter vegetarian to make sure there was something he would like. I offered the box to him, and he stared at me.

"Which would you like?" I prompted.

"This one." He picked up a slice of margarita.

"Okay, good." I sat down next to him. "Do you eat meat?"

"Sometimes."

I took a slice of vegetarian, then followed it with a meaty slice, leaving some of each in the box. He nibbled slowly on the single slice of margarita, barely getting through half of it as I ate my two pieces.

"Don't you like it?" I asked.

"I never had pizza before."

"Never? Not even as a kid?"

His lips trembled, and he dropped the remains of the slice back in the box. "No. Not even then." He giggled and again, I knew I'd said something wrong, but what? I caught a glimpse of his eyes, wild and scared, and the continuing laugh verged on hysteria.

"Arthur, it's all right." I put the pizza box on the table out of the way and touched his arm. "Whatever I said, I'm sorry."

The laughing got louder and more screechy. He lifted his hands to the sides of his face, and rocked back and forth, losing himself in whatever negative thoughts assailed him. After a moment, I pulled his hand away from his face and held it in both of mine, rubbing my thumbs over his knuckles. "Arthur, take it easy. You're okay."

He ignored me and laughed until it seemed exhaustion made him stop. He pulled his hand free and rose slowly to his feet. "I need to go. I'm sorry to bother you with my shit." Without waiting for a reply, he limped slowly out of the apartment, left the door open, and made his way down the corridor to his own. I watched until he disappeared inside, then closed my door with a sigh.

"How can I help you?" I asked my empty apartment. "There must be something I can do."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

I didn't see Arthur again for two weeks. I thought about him constantly, worried about him, too. I was tempted to knock on his door to check on him, but I didn't want to bother him. I hadn't heard a sound from him, and when I spoke to Sophie one day, she told me "that freak" had been strangely silent recently.

"You shouldn't call him that," I said.

"Really?" She rolled her eyes. "He's insane and creepy. Should be locked up. Anyway, I was wondering, if, um, if you wanted to go for a coffee or something one day?"

Shit. I hoped she wouldn't have the nerve to ask. "I'm sorry. I'm not looking for, um, a—"

"It's just coffee, not a proposal." She giggled and blushed.

"I'm sorry." I shook my head. "I'm, um, I'm gay."

"Oh! Why ever didn't you say?" She smiled wider. "You must think I'm a fool, flirting for weeks with you. It's fine. How about coffee as friends, just some time whenever you've nothing better to do?"

"That sounds good," I agreed, relieved she'd accepted it so readily.

Insistent tapping at the lift button drew my attention, and I glanced behind me to see Arthur standing there, his back to me and head down. He must have heard at least the last part of the conversation, but I hadn't heard him at all. He'd appeared without making a sound.

Sophie glanced past me and smirked. "Freak. I'll see you soon." She slipped back into her apartment and closed the door.

"Arthur?" I went to stand beside him as he tapped impatiently at the lift button. The lift showed no signs of appearing. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine."

"Have the bruises gone?"

"I'm _fine_!" He spun away and ran for the stairs. In a second, he was gone, thundering down the flights of stairs to the street. I heard the door at the bottom crash open as he hurled himself out of the building.

I went back to my apartment and called a friend from work. Tom was a mental health doctor and the moment I explained I had a neighbour who was prone to bouts of hysterical laughter at inopportune moments, and the occasional crying fit, he had it figured.

"It's probably pseudobulbar affect disorder. He's likely had a head injury at some point, or possibly had some brain defect from birth. It's not curable, but the person can learn to control it somewhat. It's usually the result of intense emotions, which often results in what seems like an inappropriate response. Hysterical laughter over bad news, for example. What do you know about this guy?"

"Very little." I told him what I knew about Arthur, which was barely anything.

"Does he have anyone he talks to?"

"I don't know. He said once he doesn't have any friends, only a social worker. He cares for his sick mother."

"What do you want out of this?" Tom asked.

"I don't know. To help, be his friend. I hate seeing how he's suffering."

"All you can do is spend time with him and try to get him to talk. He may not even know what the root cause of this is, if it happened when he was young. You can offer support, that's all."

It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but I hadn't expected him to say I could work some magic and make Arthur better. I just wanted to do something.

Another week passed, and I saw him in less than ideal circumstances. I was working an evening shift when an ambulance brought his mother in after a stroke. Arthur was with her, pacing, twitching, wringing his hands, and laughing. I wasn't needed to help with his mother—there were plenty of staff on. I offered to take care of Arthur instead, and a wary nurse and the anxious receptionist were only too pleased for me to take him off their hands. I took him to the relatives' room and made him some coffee with plenty of sugar. He lit a cigarette and alternately smoked and sipped the drink.

"What happened, Arthur?" I asked.

"I, um, I can't tell you." He laughed. "Why do you even want to talk to me after what I did before?"

"What do you think you did?"

"I don't know, but it wasn't nice. You don't talk to me anymore."

"I haven't seen you," I pointed out. "I tried to talk to you a week ago, but you ran away from me."

"I'd been stupid. I was embarrassed," he said. "You made coffee and ordered pizza and I left."

"You were hurt and upset," I reminded him. "And I think I said something that made things worse."

"I don't know. Maybe. Everything makes things worse."

"What happened today? Can you tell me?"

"My social worker cancelled me. I mean, they cancelled her. The system cancelled the funding. I'm not important enough." He put the half empty mug down, dropped the cigarette end in it, and twisted his hands together.

I hadn't seen him many times, but enough to see his tension growing again. I pulled his left hand free and laced our fingers together. "Is this okay? If I hold your hand?"

"I suppose, if you want to."

"Good. Hold onto me. Your care funding got cancelled, so what happens now?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I won't get my medication anymore either."

"What do you take?"

"A couple of things. Anti-this and that."

"Anti-depressants?" I suggested.

"Yeah. Those.

"I'll speak to one of my colleagues and find out what's available to you," I said.

"There isn't anything. I don't qualify unless I can pay, and I can't. I don't have insurance either."

"I can still ask. I have this friend, Tom—"

"Is he your boyfriend?" Arthur put in.

"Um, no!"

"You like men though." He nodded, stating a fact.

"You heard me tell Sophie that?"

"Yes." He laughed suddenly, a genuine amused laugh. "She wanted a date with you."

"Does it bother you?" I asked.

"Um, no? I don't think so. I dream of being with somebody one day, but it will never happen. No one can deal with me. But if I had someone, it would be a man."

"You've never been with anyone?" I asked. "At all?"

"Why? Because I'm so old I can't possibly never have done anything? Thirty-five and never been kissed." The laugh returned—the screechy one. "I've never been fucked either."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be sometimes. I was married for nearly ten years. I didn't want to upset my family, and I didn't want people to find out I was gay. It was 1970. I thought I could do it. I thought I could be what other people call normal. My wife caught me with a man," I admitted. "We're divorced. It cost me a lot of money and a lot of pain."

Arthur nodded. "That's why you live in the shithole. Of course. She took all your money. I'm sorry about that."

"I suppose it's what I deserved. I should have been honest. I should never have married her. All I did was make everyone involved unhappy, including my own family. They only talk to me now when they absolutely have to." I squeezed his hand firmly. "So, that's the skeleton out of my closet."

"You want to meet my skeletons?" Arthur took a breath and began to talk in an endless monotone, barely pausing to draw breath. "I found out recently. Thirty years later I found out the truth. My mother told me she worked for a rich man, Thomas Wayne. You probably know who that is. She said he got her pregnant and I was the result, so I followed him and tried to talk to him. He denied it, of course. Rich powerful man like him doesn't have a mentally disturbed child. He told me my mother adopted me while she worked for him. He helped her and she got me when I was about three years old. I believed him. He showed me a copy of my birth certificate, but maybe he made it up. I don't know. We lived in a little house in the suburbs, me and my mother, but I don't remember it. I don't remember much. I remember her boyfriend. He hated me and he hated her paying any attention to me. He hit her if she showed me any affection, so she didn't. She did what he said and I was chained to the radiator most of the time. They didn't feed me much. They said there were too many fat kids in town and I'd get like that too. If I made a fuss, he hit me and kicked me. I don't remember any of this, I was told that it happened. Thomas Wayne showed me the newspaper article about it. A whole page. One day my mother's boyfriend came home drunk. My mother was eating something, but she hadn't given any to me. I was starving. He was angry because she didn't wait for him. He threw the plate on the floor and knocked her down, and then he smashed my head into the radiator. I almost died. They said my brain was damaged. So you really don't want to be my friend, Rob. I'm a psycho freak just like Sophie says. I wish I was dead. My death might be more interesting that my life." He covered his face with both hands, not noticing my hand was still holding his. Tears poured down his face and over my fingers. For once, it was an appropriate response to his emotional state.

Carefully, I pulled my hand free and wrapped both arms around him. Rather than panic and jerk away, he leaned into me and sobbed his heart out. I hugged him close, stroked one hand over his hair, cuddled his thin frame, and winced at the feel of his ribs. What he had told me explained a lot. Even without a head injury resulting from being smashed into the radiator, the psychological abuse of being chained up and starved could affect a person so badly that an eating disorder and depression wouldn't be unusual. I knew that much.

"You're not a freak, Arthur," I murmured. "You've been abused, horribly, and it's had a severe effect on you. Nothing you do is freakish if you can't help it."

"You're the first person to ever say that." He pulled out of my arms but stayed close. "Even my care worker thinks I'm crazy. She didn't know what happened to me. She made me write in a journal. The things I wrote in there—they were my thoughts, that's all. She looked like she wanted me to leave and never come back. She must be glad the funding was cut."

"What did you write in your journal? Negative thoughts? You said once you only have negative thoughts," I remembered.

"Always. What's there to be happy about? My mother always said "smile and put on a happy face," so I do, and it doesn't mean anything. I am no one. I have no one. I'm nothing. And my mother made me like this. We had a fight today. That's why she had a stroke. It was my fault, and I don't care. She hid everything from me all my life and lied to me. It was all a lie. All of it. And still she eats and I fucking starve." The sentence ended with a high-pitched giggle. "I fucking starve. Look at me."

"I am looking, Arthur. And I care about what happens to you. You do have someone. Even if it's just a friend who lives down the corridor, and makes you coffee with too much sugar once a month, and watches you eat half a slice of pizza. Let me try to help you. If I can't help, I'll find someone who can, or who can advise me what to do."

"Why would you do that for me?" His eyes widened.

"Because I want to. Do you want me to?"

"Yes. Please. But I don't know how to be any different. I don't know when I'm doing something wrong. It seems right to me. I ran away from you before because I was embarrassed, but I didn't know why that was. I couldn't remember. I probably laughed when I shouldn't have. I can't do anything about that. It won't stay inside, no matter how hard I try. If I don't let it out, I choke."

"You don't have to be embarrassed with me. I've seen you in a bad way a couple of times and it doesn't make any difference. I understand a little. I'm here for you if you want me to be," I said firmly, wondering exactly what I was letting myself in for. Why did I care so much?

A tap on the door interrupted us, and a doctor slipped inside. "Hello, Rob." He nodded at me and then turned his attention to Arthur. "Mr Fleck. I'm sorry to tell you that your mother passed away a few minutes ago. We did everything we could. We—"

He broke off, stunned, as Arthur started to laugh.

"It's okay, George. I think he has PBD," I said, remembering what Tom had told me. "He'll be okay. Could you leave us?"

"Sure. Page me if you need me." He left and closed the door quietly behind him.

I took Arthur's hand again, and held it as he laughed until he wore himself out. Then he slumped back in his seat. "It's over, then," he said. "Now I'm really alone."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Do you want to see her?" I asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Arthur rose slowly to his feet. "I'm going to go home now."

I glanced at my watch, realising my shift was nearly over. "I'm almost done for the night. Can you wait here? I'll go with you," I told him.

"I can go on my own."

"I know, but I'm going anyway, so we may as well travel together." I didn't want him to go alone after everything that had happened. I imagined him getting back to his empty apartment, and I didn't like that thought.

"All right. I'll wait here." He sat back down.

I left him and went to the locker room to change out of my scrubs. I was just shoving them into my bag to take home to wash, when Tom came in.

"You're working late," I commented. Usually he worked eight to five, or nine to six—regular appointment hours.

"I was paged for an attempted suicide. When I came in I heard about Arthur. How is he? How are you?"

"I'm fine. Arthur's–I don't know. He's up and down. Things were complicated with his mother, but it's more than that. His care support funding has been cut. He has no one anymore, and he can't get his meds."

"What's he on?"

"I don't know. Anti-depressants of some sort. He doesn't have insurance."

Tom scratched his head. "You care about him?"

"Yeah. He doesn't have anyone else."

"So, you pity him?"

I shrugged. "It's more than that. I see glimpses of someone who could be much more than he is, but he's dragged down by all the shit—his condition, his depression, the past. He's adopted. His mother and her boyfriend abused him horribly."

Tom frowned. "Sexually?"

"No. Chained him to a radiator, beat him, and starved him. He got a head injury that way. He only found out about this recently. He went to see who he believed to be his father, and got a whole different story from what his mother told him. Apparently it was in the paper, so he had to believe it."

"Fuck," Tom muttered under his breath. "I shouldn't say this, because you know it's meant for spouses, but you could put him on your insurance. If it means that much to you."

I met his eyes, surprised. "Would you see him?"

"Sure, if he wants me to. I have some appointments free later in the week if it's needed, and from what you've told me, he's high risk. He shouldn't be without support."

_High risk._ His words echoed in my head. Arthur had no one now, other than me. Who would help him when things were bad, when he had no one to call on? I would step up, I decided. I would be his friend, if nothing else. I wouldn't let him down. Hopefully, he would agree to see Tom so he would have qualified support, too, and I'd be willing to bet Tom was a hundred times better than a welfare-funded care worker who didn't give a shit about her patients, so long as she got her salary.

"Thanks, you're a good friend." I patted Tom on the shoulder and returned to the relatives' room. I half expected Arthur to have gone, but he sat exactly where I'd left him. "Arthur?"

"Are we going now?" He sprang up.

"Yes, I'm ready. You sure you don't want to see your mother, before they take her to the, um, to the morgue?"

Arthur shook his head vigorously. "She wasn't my mother. We weren't even related. I cared for her for years, and she never deserved it after what she did to me. I wouldn't be like this if it hadn't been for her." He walked out of the room and strode briskly to the main doors, not checking whether I followed.

I hurried after him and caught him up outside. We walked side by side to the station to get the train back to the apartments. He didn't say a word on the journey, but sat bolt upright and rigid beside me, jaw stiff, hands clenched in his lap. I tried to speak to him a couple of times, but he ignored me. After a few minutes, he pulled out his cigarettes and proceeded to smoke one after another for the rest of the journey, and on the walk back to our building. He stopped smoking when we reached the lift and realised he had only one cigarette left in the packet.

"Do you want to come back with me for a while?" I asked.

"It's the middle of the night."

"Not to me. I work shifts. Sometimes I have my breakfast at midnight. Today, it feels like it's time for dinner."

Arthur's lips twitched into a quick smile that vanished almost as rapidly as it appeared. "You don't want me messing up your life, Rob."

"You're not messing anything up for me. If I didn't want you to come back, I wouldn't have asked. Why don't you come in and have a coffee, and see how you feel then?"

"Okay." He followed me to my door, and slipped into the living room to sit on the couch, while I went into the kitchen to make coffees. I put three sugars in his, and brought out a plate of cookies with the drinks.

Much to my surprise, Arthur ate seven cookies while he drank his coffee, dipping each into the liquid until it started to go soggy before he put it in his mouth. When the mug was empty, he continued to hold it until I took it from his hand and put it on the table. He folded his hands together, but I didn't miss the way they were shaking before he clenched them and stopped it.

"I'm going to make a proper meal," I told him. "I'm starving."

"You cook?" He glanced at me.

"Sure."

"Me too. I used to cook for my mother. Most of it was TV dinners, though."

"What do you like to eat?" I asked.

"Plain things. I don't like different flavours and textures mixed together."

I remembered when I'd ordered pizza and he chose to eat a slice of margarita, avoiding the pieces with toppings. "I could make chicken and rice. Will you have some?"

"Okay. Thank you."

"Come with me."

He followed me into the kitchen and sat on the bar stool while I put chicken pieces in the steamer, set a pan of rice to boil, and stir-fried some sugar snap peas. Arthur watched, fidgeting nervously, and didn't talk. I talked.

"Arthur, you know I mentioned my friend at work? Tom? The one you asked about whether he was my boyfriend?"

He shrugged.

"I said he was a mental health doctor. He offered to see you. He has some appointments free this week. He might be able to help, and he can certainly make sure you get your meds now your support has ended."

I glanced at Arthur, who stared through me with a vacant expression.

"You don't have to pay," I added. "We get insurance for an extra person in my job. I can put you on mine if you want to see him."

Arthur's eyes refocused, but he didn't respond.

"Just think about it, okay? You can let me know if you want to talk to him, and I'll ask him to arrange an appointment for you."

When the food was ready, I arranged the three items carefully on the plates so they didn't touch each other. We sat side by side on the couch with trays on our laps, and to my relief, Arthur ate. Not much, but he did manage a whole chicken breast and a little of the rice and peas. When he finished, he put the tray on the coffee table.

"I'm stuffed," he said, and pulled out his last cigarette.

"Please don't smoke in here," I reminded him.

"I'm sorry." He put it down on the table. "I'll stop. I can't afford it anyway."

I took the plates away and when I returned, he was on his feet, pacing, and wringing his hands.

"Hey." I touched his arm and he stood still. "What's wrong? I know that's probably a stupid question, but you seem very uncomfortable."

"I'm, um, I'm nervous. I was going to, um, to do something, but I—" He broke off and licked his lips, staring at the floor. He turned away from me, then spun back suddenly, cupped my face in his hands, and pressed his lips to mine.

My breath caught in my throat. It was the last thing I expected. Our noses bumped awkwardly, his lips slid across mine, and he pulled back, eyes down and face flushed. His hands fell to my shoulders, and his mouth twisted into a grimace of embarrassment. He'd said he had never even kissed anyone before and the first time he tried, it was clumsy and uncomfortable. I wanted to make him feel better, and at the same time, a spark of excitement raced down my spine. It shouldn't have, but I couldn't help it. If you took away all his problems, he was an attractive man I'd be interested in.

I leaned closer and brought our lips together again, more carefully than his sudden lunge had been. Our mouths fitted together perfectly, his lips parted to accommodate mine, and a soft muffled moan left him. I slid my arms around him as the kiss continued, slow and sensual, not deepening with tongues, but a long gentle caress. Arthur whimpered deep in his throat, and slid his arms around my neck. I held him closer, drawing his body against mine. My blood started to head south, and I moved my lower body away from his, aware that he wasn't aroused. The kiss drew to end with a few soft brushes of our lips together, before Arthur turned his head to the side and tucked his face into my neck. His breath huffed out of him, warm on my skin.

"I didn't think you'd want to kiss me," he whispered.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You can do so much better." With a sigh, he pulled away. I expected to see his usual sad expression, but his eyes glittered, and a smile tugged his lips up at the corners. "Thank you. I needed this today."

"It was my pleasure. These last few minutes in particular."

Arthur chuckled quietly. "I need to go now. Goodnight, Rob."

Before I could say anything else, he had slipped away to the door and let himself out. It clicked shut behind him, leaving me staring after him in bemusement.

I was hard for him. His kiss had ignited something in me that I hadn't felt in quite a while. Real life had got in the way and I hadn't been able to enjoy a man's company since before my divorce. But Arthur wasn't like me. I was afraid to get into anything with him in case it had a bad effect on him. He struggled so much already, with his condition and his depression, and presumably things would soon get worse without his medication. Unless I did what Tom suggested and put him on my insurance. If only I could persuade him to see Tom.

I thought about him as I cleared away the remains of the meal, disposed of the cigarette he had left on the coffee table, and took a quick shower. I was exhausted and desperate for sleep, but when I got in bed, I was restless. I couldn't get Arthur out of my mind, and I wondered if he was lying in his lonely bed too, thinking about me, or if he was wallowing in sadness, or having an attack of anxiety.

He'd only been anxious earlier, I realised, because he wanted to kiss me and feared my reaction, or possible rejection. His smile had been one of both relief and excitement when he said goodnight. Maybe I was worrying too much. Maybe an interaction like this with me wouldn't be a mistake after all, but if I got involved and then it wasn't what I wanted, what would that do to him? Even being his friend would be hard work, let alone anything more.

I tossed and turned, wanting him and worrying about him, arguing with myself about whether I should keep my distance or not. I knew I should go with my head and not my heart, but I knew I was starting to feel something for him. I had to try to ignore it and do what was best for him.

I dozed, off and on, until the sky lightened the other side of my drapes and indicated morning had come.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I must have fallen asleep again without realising. Something disturbed me, and when I became fully conscious, I realised someone was banging on my door.

_Arthur_!

I threw myself out of bed, dragged on a pair of jeans, and rushed to the door. When I flung it open, I found Sophie on the other side of it.

"Oh! Hey." I rubbed a hand over my face. "Are you okay?"

"I think that freak set his apartment on fire. There's smoke coming under the door. I called the fire service."

"Oh, God." I shoved my feet into the first pair of shoes I could find, grabbed my keys, and raced down the corridor. Sophie followed more slowly. "Make sure they're sending an ambulance as well!" I called back over my shoulder.

I reached Arthur's door, and immediately smoke swirled around my ankles. It oozed thickly under the door and caught in the draft coming from the stairwell.

"Arthur!" I banged loudly on the door. "Arthur, are you in there?" I tried the door, but it was locked. I would never be able to break it down without an axe or something. I rushed to the stairwell, not wanting to wait for the lift, and raced down the stairs two and three at a time. At each landing, I threw myself around the corners, hanging onto the bannister.

Outside, I ran around the corner of the building to the fire escape, pulled the ladder down, and climbed quickly. Arthur's window was open and smoke billowed out. My heart hammered, a tight band of fear around my chest as I dreaded what I would find. In the distance, I could hear sirens, but it offered no relief yet. I may be too late.

I pulled myself through the window into the living room, ducking low inside and cupping a hand over my mouth and nose. The small table in the middle of the room was ablaze, with tendrils of fire licking across the threadbare carpet around it in all directions.

A quick scan of the room showed me Arthur wasn't there. I moved to the next room—the kitchen. He lay on the floor, covered in blood. A large knife lay on the tiles beside him, and he'd cut both wrists. The blood had soaked his shirt, formed puddles on the floor, and there were smears of it on his face. I paused to close the door to the living room, to prevent the fire spreading too fast.

Arthur wasn't moving and I checked for breathing, terrified I was too late. A soft puff of breath from his nose touched my cheek when I leaned down. I let out the breath I'd been holding. He was still alive.

I knew I had to stop the bleeding, and quickly, but it was imperative I get both of us out of the smoke before he died and I passed out. I already felt light-headed, and a cloud of fumes hung above my head. I gathered Arthur into my arms, shocked by how light he was when I stood up. I made my way quickly to the main door, relieved to find the key in the lock and the chain off. Carefully balancing Arthur in one arm with my leg propped up under him, I opened the door. Out of the apartment, I lowered him to the floor in the corridor, and Sophie pulled the door closed after me.

"Get some cloths," I said. "Towels, anything."

Sophie hurried away and returned in a few seconds with a large first aid kit. "Always prepared," she said.

"Thanks." I opened it and quickly found thick dressings and bandages. I worked rapidly, trying to think of Arthur as a patient only, rather than letting myself panic. I applied pressure to his wrists with dressings, bandaged them tightly, then propped him up so he sat with his back to my chest. He felt too cold, and I wrapped both arms around him, trying to keep him warm with my own body heat. "Come on, Arthur, stay with me," I said.

"Why would he do this?" Sophie asked. "Have you talked to him?"

"Yeah. He's ill."

"Depression?"

I nodded. "Amongst other things."

"I'm sorry." She shook her head. "I haven't been very nice about him."

We waited only minutes before paramedics arrived, both of whom I knew. I reluctantly released Arthur from my arms. "Arthur Fleck, mid-thirties, deep lacerations to both wrists, the left worse than the right, probable smoke inhalation," I recited automatically. "He's breathing, but it's shallow."

"Thanks, Rob. Are you coming with us?" Martin, one of the paramedics, checked Arthur's breathing again, and the pair of them put him on a stretcher. Before they moved him, they hooked up a saline drip.

"Yes, I'm coming."

"The fire service is outside, putting a hose up to the window," Martin told me. "Do you know what happened?"

"I can guess. He cut his wrists with a large knife. It was near him. I don't know about the fire, but he smokes heavily. It started on a table in the living room, so it may have been accidental. A cigarette falling onto something."

"Okay, let's go. On three. One, two—" Martin gripped one end of the stretcher, and the other man, Paul, took hold of the other. "—three." They picked him up and made for the lift, which Sophie had summoned. I went with them, barely pausing to thank her.

One of the paramedics gave me a spare scrubs top to put on, and it was only then I realised I was still bare-chested. I had smears of blood on my hands, arms, and chest, and I wiped it off before pulling on the scrubs.

We reached the hospital fifteen minutes later, and Arthur was taken into the ER. It was mid-morning and everything was buzzing. I wasn't rostered on, thankfully, and I hovered, worrying, while a doctor and nurse attended to Arthur. He was given a blood transfusion as well as the saline drip, and an oxygen mask put on after it was established that he could breathe on his own and didn't need intubating. He'd severed the main artery in his left wrist, and made a deep gouge in his right, and the stitching took some time.

When Arthur started to show signs of waking, the doctor summoned Tom, and I was ushered, protesting, from the room. I paced and fidgeted, until Tom emerged thirty minutes later.

"How is he?" I demanded.

"Come to my office."

We walked quickly, and Tom closed the door behind us. "Well?" I prompted immediately. "Did he say anything?"

"He started off by saying he wouldn't talk unless it was to you. Then I gave him my name. Did you tell him about me?"

"Yes, I said you'd see him if he wanted it."

"Okay." Tom sat down at his desk and I sat opposite. "Did you kiss him?"

"Um…" My face heated. "Well, he kissed me. I wasn't expecting it. He'd never kissed anyone. We ate dinner together. He seemed relatively okay. He thanked me, kissed me, I kissed back. He said goodnight and left. Is this my fault?" Anxiety gnawed at my stomach.

"It's not your fault," Tom said. "Don't think that. He's a sick man. To him, it was perfect. Something he's always dreamed of and thought he could never have. He thought you'd come to your senses and wish you hadn't done it. He wanted things to end with that. A perfect happy memory."

"Oh, fuck." Groaning, I sunk my head into my hands. "I made things worse."

"You didn't. But you need to decide what you want from this. If you do want to be with him, it's not gonna be easy."

"I know."

"And don't be with him because he wants it. It's better to let him think the one kiss is all it will ever be, if you're not sure."

"I know," I repeated. He was only telling me what I'd told myself dozens of times during the night. How could I make a decision like that without really knowing what I wanted? He was right. It would be better not to let anything else happen, even though that thought resulted in a pang of disappointment. "Can I go and see him?"

"Sure. And sort out your insurance."

"He agreed to see you?" I felt a spark of hope.

"Not yet. He's undecided, but I've made him an appointment anyway, for tomorrow."

"Thank you." I left him and went to the administration department first to add Arthur to my insurance, but then realised I didn't know his date of birth. I went to see him.

Arthur lay on a hospital bed, huddled on one side under the sheet, the top of a blue and white gown visible around his shoulders. A saline drip was still attached, and the oxygen mask was in place over his mouth and nose. He didn't notice me until I sat down beside the bed. Then his eyes focused and he blinked.

"You're still here." His voice was muffled by the mask, and he pulled it off.

"Yes. I went to talk to Tom."

"The psyche doctor?"

"Yeah."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face into the pillow. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, sounding more indistinct that ever.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter." He rolled onto his back suddenly and met my gaze. "You shouldn't have to deal with all this shit. Did he tell you why?" He scrunched his face up, but didn't break the eye contact.

"Yes, he told me."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. Cutting myself, I mean, not the kiss. The kiss was perfect. To me, anyway." His face relaxed. "I'm sure you've had much better."

"Not that I can remember. Arthur—"

"I know. It was a one-time thing. You don't have to say it. I just wanted that one moment. I expected you to push me away, or punch me. When you didn't, I wanted to leave, and just remember how good it was."

"Listen to me. You're not in a good place for getting involved with anybody," I told him. "But I care about you. I'm not going anywhere. For now, I'm your friend. You'll see Tom, right? Get things back on track?"

"Are you sure this won't cost you money?"

I shook my head. "I'm gonna put you on my insurance like Tom said. I need your date of birth."

"I was born on New Year's Day. Nineteen forty-six."

"You're a month older than me," I said with a smile.

"I feel like I'm ninety. What happened to my apartment?"

"There was a fire. The fire service came. I'll check it when I get back."

"I didn't do it on purpose. Light the fire, I mean. I was smoking a cigarette. I suddenly knew what I was going to do. I went to find a knife, and I think I left the cigarette burning when I went to the kitchen. I can remember falling on the floor. I was sleepy and it was hard to breathe."

"There was a lot of smoke."

"How did you get in?"

"Through the window. You left it open."

Arthur lifted his hands and rubbed them over his face. Thick white bandages encased his thin wrists. "I'll probably lose my job. You're supposed to call if you're sick."

"I can call if you give me the number."

"It's written in a notebook next to my phone. HaHa's Entertainment. When can I go home?"

"I think they'll want to keep you here tonight. I can bring you some things—clothes and stuff." I began making a mental note: clothes, toiletries, something to read, snacks, call his job, clean up the blood, make sure the door is locked.

"Will you bring pyjamas?" Arthur asked. "I hate this stupid gown they put on me. It's open down the back."

I smiled. "Of course. Where do you keep your clothes?"

"In my bedroom. It's the last door down the hall, after the kitchen."

"I'll go now, then I'll come back," I promised.

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

"No, I have a day off."

"But you're wearing your hospital shirt." Arthur reached out and touched the blue fabric.

"Oh, yes. I didn't have a shirt on when I came to find you. One of the paramedics gave me this," I explained.

"Okay."

Unable to help myself, I took his hand and squeezed it in both of mine. "I won't be long."

"Thank you, Rob." He closed his eyes.

I left, and hurried as much as I could. I gave the admin department his details first, and had him added to my insurance. It cost me fifty bucks for the amendment, given that I wasn't adding a wife, but I didn't care about that.

An hour later, I let myself into his apartment. The acrid smell of smoke permeated the rooms, and everything in the living room was drenched and ruined. I ignored it and found Arthur's bedroom.

The room was bland and virtually empty, the only furniture being a single bed, a cabinet beside it, and a wardrobe. He had no trinkets, pictures, or decorations. A small stack of books leaned against the side of the cabinet. I opened the wardrobe and took out shirt, trousers, and jacket, then found pyjamas, socks and underwear in a drawer, and a pair of shoes in a corner. I put everything into a bag, then bent to look at the books. Three out of the eleven books were my Ernest Hemingway and I guessed this must be a favoured author. I selected _The Old Man and the Sea, _which I'd read myself, and put it in the bag. I added a bottle of hair and body wash that stood on the cabinet, and a razor and shaving foam, in case the hospital kept him in more than one night.

The telephone rested on a small table in the hall, and I found Arthur's notebook next to it. The number for HaHa's Entertainment was on the third page. Wrinkling my nose at the smell of smoke, I dialled the number and spoke to Arthur's boss. I didn't bother to remember his name. It was something odd like Hoot or Hote. I reported that I worked at City Hospital where Arthur had been taken, after a fire in his apartment caused him to suffer smoke inhalation. I didn't mention anything else. It would be down to him to tell his employer if he wanted to admit to a suicide attempt. I was advised he would need to return with a sickness certificate, and that he would receive half pay until he was back.

"Bastard," I muttered as I hung up the phone.

I ducked into the kitchen and found a pack of plain biscuits and a box of cheese crackers, stuffed them in the bag, and left the apartment, locking the door behind me. Then I headed back to the hospital.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Arthur was sleeping when I got back to him. I sat down quietly in the chair, took the book out of the bag, and began to read. I'd first had _The Old Man and the Sea_ read to me when I was a child. My sister Rebecca, who was ten years older than me, bought it to join her growing teenage library. Her school had studied _For Whom the Bell Tolls_ and she liked it so much, she began a collection of Hemingway books. I guessed I must have been six when she read _The Old Man_ to me, because she snatched it off the shelf of our nearest bookstore the very day it was released in 1952. I'd been fascinated by it then, and enjoyed studying it years later when my teacher picked it for English class. Rebecca was gone now, and reading the book reminded me of how amazing she had been before anorexia got its teeth into her.

I read half the book before Arthur stirred. He opened his eyes slowly and focussed on me, then pulled the oxygen mask off his face. "You came back."

"I said I would. I brought you some things." I indicated the bag beside me.

"What are you reading?"

I showed him the cover. "I thought you might want a book. This is one of my favourites, too."

Arthur smiled. "I must have read it a dozen times. See how old and dog-eared that copy is? I stole it from school. We studied it and I liked the story. I was in a care home. We never got books to read or gifts, so I stole it and hid it under my mattress."

"How long were you in the home?" I asked.

"Um, ten years? Not always the same one. I was moved around to different ones. After my mother went to the asylum, there was no one to take care of me, so the system did. They didn't cope well with me, and foster care was out of the question. No one would take a psychotic child." Arthur laughed loudly, his eyes pained.

"Hey. Don't think about it." I reached for his hand. "Don't let that upset you."

Arthur carried on laughing, but it was short bursts, not verging on hysteria. He pulled free and put his hands over his face, his mouth turned down at the corners, and tears seeped from behind his hands. "Fuck. Sorry," he choked.

I wanted so much to get up, sit on the edge of the bed, and take him in my arms, but it wouldn't do him any good to get more reliant on me. I stayed where I was in the chair, silently cursing the years of shit he'd had to go through, and especially the woman who made it so much worse for him by not protecting him from her boyfriend.

Eventually, he stopped crying and lay silent, pale and sad, eyes closed, lips trembling.

"I brought pyjamas like you asked," I said softly. "And a full set of clothes for when they let you go home. Washing and shaving stuff, too."

"Did you call Hoyt, my boss?"

"Yes. I just said you'd been taken to hospital after inhaling smoke when your apartment caught fire. I said I was a nurse here."

"You didn't tell him what I did?" He forced his eyelids up, revealing blood-shot eyes fringed with thick wet lashes.

"No. I didn't think you'd want that. Besides, it's not my business."

Arthur squawked with laughter, then clamped both hands over his mouth and tried to stifle it. For a moment, he coughed and spluttered, then took a breath. "I'm sorry I made it your business. I'm sorry about everything," he said miserably.

"I didn't mean that how it sounded. I meant, it's not for me to interfere and tell your boss things about you. _I_ made you my business, and I'm not sorry. I'm your friend, any time you need me."

"What time is it?" he asked suddenly.

"About four thirty." I checked my watch and nodded. "They'll be bringing food around soon."

"Hospital food is shit." Arthur made a face. "They mix things together."

"I can bring you something else later. In the meantime, I found snacks in your kitchen." I opened the bag and put the items on the shelf next to the bed where he could reach them.

"You thought of everything. Could you, um, could you give me a minute so I can get changed? I'm cold."

"Sure." I got up. "I'll be outside."

"You don't have to go. Just don't look."

"All right." I turned away and closed my eyes for good measure. The sounds of fabric moving around, shuffling, and rustling reached my ears, but I didn't turn back until I heard the bed creak, indicating Arthur had got into it again. The red flannel pyjama shirt was buttoned to his neck, and he had pulled the cuffs down to cover his bandages. I returned to the chair.

"You don't have to stay. You must have other things to do," Arthur said.

"I'll stay a little longer. Then I'll go and make some dinner and bring it back to eat with you."

"You don't have to do that." His lips pulled up into a smile. "But I won't try to talk you out of it."

I grinned. "You wouldn't succeed. Do you want to talk about anything?"

"No. I want you to talk. Tell me about Rob Meecham. What was your childhood like? Better than mine, I'm sure."

"Are you sure you want to hear that?" I frowned.

"Yes. I'd like to. I'd like to hear about a normal kid growing up in a family. I don't know anything different to what I had."

"Okay. Well, I was born on February 2nd, a month after you, like I said before. I had a sister, Rebecca. She was ten years old when I came along. My father was a dentist, and my mother a school teacher. They were strict, but decent."

"Where did you live?" Arthur put in.

"A tiny town called Greatham, about fifty miles south of here. I adored my sister. She introduced me to Ernest Hemingway." I told him what I'd been thinking about earlier. "I was heartbroken when she went away to college. I was nine. I thought I'd never see her again. When she graduated, she followed our mother into teaching." I sighed heavily.

"Where is she now?"

"She died, five years ago."

"Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry." Arthur sat up and reached out to me. I put my hand in his. "What happened? Did someone hurt her?"

I paused, imagining he'd said that because so many people had hurt him. "Yeah," I began. "She met a man, got engaged. They were young, only twenty-three. Two years later, when they were planning their wedding, she found out he was already married to someone else. She was devastated. She, um, she barely ate and she started suffering from anorexia. You know what that is?"

Arthur's nails dug into my palm, but he didn't laugh, or cry, or do anything other than frown and look down at himself. "You think I have that, don't you?"

"Do you think you do?"

"My care worker said so. I don't know. I don't do it on purpose because I think I'm fat, or I'm worried I'll get fat. It was drilled into me in the first few years that I didn't deserve to eat. In the care homes I was in, the strongest and fastest got most of the food. Now, I think it's just what I'm used to."

"Sometimes it's about control," I said. "Being able to control one small part of your life."

Arthur shrugged. "I never thought about it like that. But we were talking about you. And Rebecca. What happened to her?"

"She got very frail, extremely thin. My parents got her to see a doctor about it, and eventually she started to get better. This was years later, by the way. She was thirty-nine when she started to look healthy again, but inside, she wasn't. Her heart gave out a few weeks after her fortieth birthday."

Arthur's eyes widened, and he stared at me, horrified, pained, then filled with realisation. He pulled his hand back and wrapped his arms around his thin body, hanging his head. "I'm sorry, Rob. I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"It's not all right. You have your own troubles. You don't need mine adding to them."

"Arthur, listen to me." This time, I did get up and sit on the edge of the bed. I gripped his shoulders and made him look at me. "What happened to my sister was tragic, but it didn't shape my life. I make my own way. I'm okay. I loved my sister and I know she loved me. I'm sure she's in a better place."

Arthur laughed, while at the same time his eyes flew open wider in shock. He clenched his teeth and put his hands over his mouth again, until a choking fit forced him to let out another gasping laugh. "Fuck. You see how bad I am for you? For anyone? You tell me about the worst thing that happened in your life, and I fucking _laugh._ I don't deserve you to even pass the time of day with me."

"But I understand," I said calmly. "I know you don't laugh because you think it's funny. It's involuntary. You're probably shocked and upset and sad for me, and I know you just realised that it hurts me to see you so thin, but all those emotions rolled together result in a response you can't control."

"Tom said that."

"Yes, he said it to me, too. Will you see him tomorrow?"

"Yes," Arthur said firmly. "I'll see him as often as he can fit me in."

"Will you tell him what you told me about why you think you don't eat?"

"Yes."

I took my hands off Arthur's shoulders and grasped one of his hands in both of mine instead. I told him more about Rebecca, until we were disturbed by the canteen staff bringing around meals. The offering was some kind of pie with assorted meat and vegetable mixed into a thick sauce and topped with savoury crumble. It was probably decent enough, but Arthur wouldn't enjoy it. I left him and went back to my apartment to make something we both could eat.

The meagre supply of groceries I had in my refrigerator limited my choices, but I was able to make baked potatoes and lamb chops. Arthur liked sugar, so I cut a large slab of plain vanilla cake, too. I wrapped the items separately in aluminium foil to keep the hot food warm as long as possible, then returned to the hospital again. Arthur was awake, propped against his pillows and reading _The Old Man and the Sea._

"So, what's for dinner?" He put the book aside and straightened up with a smile.

"Lamb and potatoes. I need to go shopping. It's all I had in that I thought you'd like."

"I've never had lamb. My mother always said it was a luxury."

"Well, then, consider yourself treated." I laid out two plates I'd procured from the canteen, put a potato and a lamb chop on each, and passed him a knife and fork.

He ate slowly and deliberately, but kept going until two-thirds of his food was gone. "I hate that I'm full," he said with a sigh. "It's nice."

I wrapped up the remains, and put it in the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. "You can have it later if you want it. It'll be just as good cold. I brought cake, too. A plain one. I'll leave it here." I put the package on the shelf beside the bed.

I stayed another hour, until exhaustion forced me to leave. We didn't talk as such. It turned out we'd both reached the same place in the book, so I read a chapter out loud, then he read one. I enjoyed listening to his voice, low and steady with a gentle intonation. When he finished the chapter, he folded the corner of the page down and put the book on the shelf. "I used to read to my mother. I don't know if she appreciated it or not."

"I'm sure she did. You have a nice reading voice."

"I didn't see her for years. I didn't know what happened then, you see. One day I was chained to the radiator, wishing I could have just one bite of bread or something. The next, I was in hospital. And after that, I was in a home. Then another, and another. I didn't know where she went. I was different after I came out of the hospital. I didn't seem to be able to work things out. I screamed a lot. I thought I was screaming, but I guess it was laughter."

"When did you see your mother again?" I noticed he still referred to her as such, even though he'd acknowledged more than once that they weren't related.

"Ten years ago. Arkham Asylum contacted me. I was told she'd been there a long time, they were releasing her, and she'd named me as her only relative. She was still sick, but not so sick that she had to be there anymore. I got a cheap apartment, like the one I have now, but on the south side. We lived there and I took care of her."

"So, you cared for her for the last ten years?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I guess it didn't matter. I had nothing else to do. Most of the time it was fine. I mean, I still thought she was my mother. I didn't know what she'd done to me. I was happy to care for her." He let out a short laugh, but that was all. "I'd better let you go. Don't you have to work tomorrow? It's getting late."

"I have a regular day shift tomorrow. I'll see you on my break," I promised.

"You think I'll still be here then?"

"Possibly. Your breathing seems fine. They might keep you a little longer because of what you did. Maybe after you see Tom, you can go home." I paused. "Actually, I'm not sure that's a good idea. Your apartment needs cleaning up. There's smoke everywhere, and water."

"I don't suppose it will be the worst thing I've had to deal with. I'll be fine, Rob. Go home."

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow." I got up and hovered, not wanting to leave.

"Go," Arthur prompted. "I want to go to sleep."

I ached to lean down and kiss him, even just a brush of my lips on his forehead, but I forced myself to walk away.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Despite still worrying about Arthur, I slept well that night, but I woke early. I filled a bucket with cleaning things and headed to Arthur's apartment. Sophie appeared while I was unlocking the door.

"How is Arthur?" she asked.

"He's okay."

"Good. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to try to clean up some of the smoke and water."

"Let me help," she said at once.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I probably misjudged him. What's he like, really? You seem to have got to know him a bit."

"He's a sweet guy." I pushed open the door and winced as the smell of smoke stung my nostrils. "I can tell you how he got this way, because it was in the paper, so you could go to the library and find out for yourself if you wanted." I gave her a brief outline of how Arthur came to have a head injury and how it affected him, with the subsequent PBD, which coupled with depression, made many things a challenge for him.

"That's awful!"

We got to work cleaning up, first dealing with the living room carpet, which needed to be taken up and disposed of. We dumped it in the corridor along with the burnt remains of the table, ready to take down to the garbage area later. Then I washed the floor and walls, while Sophie scrubbed the furniture and window. The rest of the rooms would need to be cleaned, and probably painted, too, but it wasn't something we could do in one day, when both of us had to go to work.

Sophie explained she had already taken her little girl to school and that she worked there herself two hours a day as a lunch time supervisor. I told her a little about my job, and something about my home life before moving to the apartment. The time flew by, and when we locked up and went our separate ways, we were already firm friends.

When I arrived at work, I was early and I went to see Arthur straight away, but he wasn't in his room. His things were still there, so he hadn't been moved or released. I noticed the cake was missing from the shelf, and when I checked the refrigerator the remains of the lamb and potato were gone, too. The scrunched up wrappers were in the waste bin in the corner. I smiled, pleased he'd eaten them. Then I went to start my shift.

Arthur came to find me a couple of hours later. He was wearing the clothes I'd brought for him, and was clean shaven, clutching the bag I'd fetched everything in.

"Hey!" I'd been fetching some lab results for a patient, and I passed the file to another passing nurse. "How are you?"

"Okay." He smiled and nodded. "I had an appointment with Tom."

"That's good. How did it go?"

"He said I've been on the wrong meds. He's given me a prescription for some different ones. He'll tell you about it. I gave him permission to talk to you. I have to work on getting into a routine again, and write in a journal. That's something I used to do before. He wants to see my old one. He said it'll help him build up a picture of my thoughts."

"I'm glad you're getting some proper help," I said. "Look, Sophie and I started cleaning up in your apartment."

"Oh, no." Arthur made a face and groaned. "You didn't have to do that. And I'm surprised she would want to help."

"I told her a little. Only what was in the newspaper years ago. She was the one who came to get me when she saw the smoke coming under your door. She was sorry about things you might have heard her say."

"Still, you don't have to clean up for me. I can do that."

"Well, I left my cleaning stuff in your kitchen. The living room carpet is gone. We made a good start. I finish work at ten tonight, so I doubt I'll see you."

"I'll be fine," Arthur said. "You don't have to worry about me. I won't do it again. I'm going back to work tomorrow."

"Will you have breakfast with me in the morning?" I asked.

He smiled again. "Sure. I'd like that."

"Come to my apartment at seven. We can eat together."

Arthur's smile widened. "Thank you, Rob. Thanks for everything." He paused and chewed his lip, then dropped his bag on the floor and launched himself at me, both arms fastening around my neck. What could I do, other than hug him back? I slid my arms around his narrow waist and held him tight for just a few seconds, until he let go and quickly pulled free. "Sorry. Sorry about that."

"It's all right. Take care, Arthur. I'll see you in the morning."

He picked up his bag and left, and I got back to work. I saw Tom in my half-hour lunch break, and he invited me to go and eat my sandwiches in his office so we could talk.

"He said he told you that you can talk to me. That he'd been on the wrong medication." I bit into a ham sandwich.

"Yeah." Tom opened a file. "He'd been on anti-psychotics for years, along with a sedative. Granted, it hasn't really done any harm, but it hasn't helped as much as a standard anti-depressant would have. The issue isn't psychosis. It's handling the PBD, and the sense of shame and embarrassment that often comes with it. He's lonely, and doesn't feel as if there's anything to look forward to.

"The care worker didn't make any effort to understand him or treat him accordingly. They're system funded, and they either lock a person up, or pump them full of shit. He's been off the meds for a few days already, so they'll be starting to come out of his system. The new stuff will take a week or two to get established, so he'll probably be much more emotional than usual in the interim. One of my concerns is his eating habits. You know as well as I do, that one of the side effects of anti-psychotics is weight gain, so the way he is means he's virtually starving himself. He says he doesn't make himself sick, which I believe, because there are no physical signs of that."

"I know," I said sadly. "Did he tell you why he doesn't eat?"

"Yes. It's a thirty-year long habit that'll be hard to break. Living alone isn't great. He needs a routine where he shares a meal with someone—"

"I've started doing that," I put in. "He doesn't eat much, but he does eat when I'm with him."

"Are you sure you want this responsibility?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "You know what happened to my sister. I don't want to see that happen to him."

"Rob, you can't replace her with him." Tom frowned.

"That's not what I'm doing. I care about him. I like spending time with him. I'm going to ask my manager if I can get a regular shift for a few weeks, so I can have either breakfast or dinner with Arthur every day."

Tom nodded. "That would help. Well, I arranged twice-weekly appointments with him to start. I want to keep an eye on him to see how things go with the new meds, and especially following the suicide attempt. I'm a little concerned that might be repeated, despite what he said about wanting to forget it and make some changes. He mentioned going back to work tomorrow. He says he loves his job, so that's one positive, at least."

We chatted a little more, then I went to talk to my manager. He couldn't promise regular shifts for any length of time, but agreed to two weeks of six-to-six starting at the end of the week. That would mean I could eat dinner with Arthur every evening.

I thought about him for the rest of the day, hoping he was okay in his damp and smoke-filled apartment. As I rode up in the lift when I arrived home, clutching a bag of groceries I'd picked up on my journey, I thought about knocking on his door to check, but it was after ten thirty and I'd probably wake him up. I went to my apartment, put away the groceries, and went to bed.

I was up, showered and dressed by seven the next morning. At exactly one minute past seven, Arthur arrived for breakfast. He looked shy and nervous, not meeting my eyes as he shuffled and twisted his hands together.

"Hey, Arthur. Come on in." I smiled and stood back.

"Are you sure I'm not, um, I'm not bothering you?"

"I'm sure. I asked you to come and have breakfast with me." I gestured inside, and he slowly walked in. I led him to the kitchen and finished the coffees I'd started making. Arthur sat on the bar stool, plucking at a thread in the seam of his trousers as he sipped his coffee. "What would you like for breakfast?" I asked. I'd bought everything I could think of that constituted breakfast food, just in case.

"I don't know. My mother always had oatmeal."

"What about you?"

He shrugged. I guessed that meant he didn't eat breakfast. "How about I cook a few things and you can help yourself?"

"Don't go to any trouble."

"It's no trouble. I like a decent breakfast before I go to work for twelve hours." I took sausage, bacon, and eggs out of the refrigerator. "Do you eat eggs? How do you like them?"

Another shrug. "I've only ever boiled them. They were like rubber." He grimaced.

"We'll try scrambled. You might like those." I set to work, grilling bacon and sausages, and mixing pancake mixture. Arthur watched, disinterested and silent.

"You said you're going back to work today?"

"Yes."

"Did you talk to your boss?"

"Yes." Arthur sighed.

"I hope your apartment wasn't too damp. Sophie and I got rid of the wet carpet and did as much as we could."

"It was fine. I did some cleaning when I got home yesterday. A lot of cleaning. And opened all the windows." Finally, he started to engage with me a little. "Did Tom talk to you?"

"Yes, I spent my lunch break with him. He told me he gave you some different meds."

"I don't suppose they'll help, but it's better than nothing."

"They'll help your depression. He told you the care worker put you on the wrong ones?"

"Yes. The ones I was on should have made me fat. Imagine what would have happened if I hadn't taken them? I'd have wasted away!" He began to laugh, loud and hysterical, until he dropped his empty mug on the floor. It smashed, and broken pieces scattered across the tiles. The laughter switched to uncontrollable crying in an instant.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath. I turned the heat down on the grill, and crossed the kitchen to him, fighting with myself over my instinct to put my arms around him. I did it anyway, holding him tight, his tears soaking into my collar. "It's okay, Arthur," I murmured. "Tom said you'll feel worse for a while before you start to feel any better."

"I'm sorry." He pulled away and wiped his face on his sleeve. "I'm sorry about the mug. I'll clean it up."

"Leave the mug. I'll get it."

"I'm sorry, Rob," he repeated.

I swept up the bits of mug and finished the breakfast. I put sausage, bacon, and scrambled eggs on two plates, with a separate plate for pancakes. I wondered if Arthur would eat at all, given his overwrought state, but he deliberately made his way through one piece of bacon, half a sausage, and all the eggs. Then he ate a pancake, rolled up, with his fingers, without maple syrup.

"We'll be able to eat dinner together every night starting from Friday," I told him. "I arranged with my manager to have a fixed day shift for two weeks."

"You did that for me?" His eyes widened.

"Yeah. I thought it would help."

Arthur smiled. "Can we have lamb again?"

"We can have whatever you want."

He left a few minutes later, and I set off to work. We shared breakfast for the next two days, and caught up on what we'd been doing with our days. Arthur performed his clown act at a children's hospital, and two kids' parties, and helped a furniture store advertise its closing down sale. I changed the dressings on his wrists when he didn't want to go to the hospital to have it done, and he went to see Tom again on Friday.

Saturday, my shift changed to the six-to-six rotation, and our breakfast dates switched to dinners. I invited Arthur to go shopping for groceries with me, and that evening he met me outside the hospital and we bought food. He picked out a few things he liked and gave me half the money at the till. We went back to my apartment and I cooked lamb chops, potatoes, and peas.

"Can I take the rest with me?" He indicated the leftover food on his plate. "I'll take it for my lunch tomorrow."

I beamed. "Of course you can."

He looked healthier overall. I couldn't tell if he'd gained any weight, but I guessed he must have put a couple of pounds on. His skin looked better—less pale— and the shadows under his eyes receded. His emotional state didn't change. He told me a woman had insulted him on the bus because he made faces at her child to make him laugh. He'd laughed uncontrollably on the bus, making all the other passengers stare and mutter, and he laughed just as hard when he told me about it, to the point where he choked and struggled to breathe.

"I'm sorry about that," I said. People didn't understand, the same way Sophie hadn't when she first told me about him. I could see why, but it didn't make it any less hard to hear when it upset him so much.

Arthur shrugged. "I should be used to it."

During the next week, he was up and down. He continued to come to my apartment for dinner, except one day when I had to go and look for him. He was in bed, huddled under a mountain of covers, not sick, but so depressed he couldn't make himself move. I fetched the groceries and cooked in his kitchen instead. He ate a few bites, but said all he wanted to do was sleep. I stayed with him and finished reading _The Old Man and the Sea_ out loud.

The next day, he was better. "I'm going to cook you dinner," he said. "It might poison you, so be prepared."

"I'll be happy with whatever you make." I followed him back to his apartment, and discovered he already had something cooking in the oven. I looked around while he worked in the kitchen. The apartment was clean now, with only a faint lingering smell of smoke that would disperse as soon as the new cans of paint in the corner of the living room were used.

We ate chicken, mashed potatoes out of a packet, and broccoli. "It's not much," Arthur said apologetically.

"It's good. Just what I would make myself. How have you been today?"

"All right. I went to the children's hospital again. I had to entertain three different wards. Everyone laughed." He grinned. "I mean, they laughed when they were supposed to. I love making people laugh. I want to be a stand-up comedian. I've been working at it. I'm not sure I'm good enough yet. My material seems funny to me, but I don't know if other people would find it funny."

"Why don't you try out some on me?" I suggested, delighted that he had a goal. He'd never mentioned this to me before.

"Oh, I don't know. What if you don't laugh?"

"What if I do?"

Arthur thought for a minute. "Okay, here's one. So, this blind guy walks into a bar. And a table. And a chair."

I chuckled.

"Then he decides to try a bungee jump. He goes to the State Bridge with his guide dog and they hook him up, dog and all. Then they ask him if he wants his head dipping in the river or not. He says yes, so they make the rope longer. As he falls, he knows he's getting near the water when the Labrador's lead goes slack."

"Oh, my God." I snorted. "You made that up?"

"Is it terrible?" His eyes widened.

"No, it's funny and quirky. Have you got any more?"

"You really want to hear more?"

"Yes."

"Okay. You know, last night I almost had a threesome. I only needed two more people."

My chuckle became a roar of laughter. "You're so funny, Arthur. Encore!"

"You really think I'm funny?"

"Yeah, you are. I think you'll be a great stand-up comedian." I wasn't just trying to make him feel better. I was still laughing inside at the blind man joke. I could quite easily imagine him in a comedy club, if only his PBD didn't get in his way.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"I got a letter." Arthur paced around my living room on Monday evening, clutching an envelope in one hand. It looked like the kind the hospital sent out for appointments.

"What's it about?"

"They want me to go and have my stitches taken out." He laughed loudly. "I may as well go and live in the fucking hospital." He choked on the words and carried on laughing.

I went to him and caught him by the upper arms, halting his charging around. "Come and sit down. Having the stitches out is nothing to worry about. I'll do it. You don't have to go to the hospital."

"It says I do!" He covered his mouth with the envelope and laughed louder.

"Arthur, take a breath. You don't have to go. The letter is a standard one they send to everyone who has stitches. They don't know you have me, okay? Sit down." I guided him to the sofa. "What's worrying you so much about it?"

He took a deep breath, eyes watering slightly. "Thinking about it. What I did. I'm not even supposed to keep the bandages on now, but I do so I don't have to see. I don't want to die, not really. I wouldn't have this if I was dead. You, I mean."

"You're not going to die, Arthur. I found you and it's all okay. Let's get this done right now, then it'll be over, and we can enjoy dinner like always."

"How long does it take?"

"Seconds. I promise. If you close your eyes you won't even know I'm doing it."

Arthur lowered his hands to his lap and met my eyes. "You must think I'm a lot of trouble."

"I think you're worried and regretful, and that's normal. Stay here." I hurried to my bedroom where I kept my extensive range of personal first aid and other equipment and returned with a small pair of forceps with a cutting blade, and antiseptic hand wipes. I held them behind my back as I returned to Arthur, but he already had his eyes closed. I sat next to him.

There were five stitches in Arthur's left wrist, and three in the right. It took seconds, just as I'd said, carefully snipping each one and drawing it out. When I was finished, I put the stitches in the nearby waste bin, the forceps on a shelf for sterilising later, and quickly wiped my hands. Then I took his hands in mine. His eyes flew open.

"Was that it?"

"Yes. Just look. It's not as bad as you think."

Arthur glanced down at his wrists, which only showed well-healed pink lines where he'd cut himself. "I'm sorry I'm such a baby." He sighed heavily. "I don't know why you put up with me."

"I care about you," I told him. "Try not to worry so much."

He ate more that night, almost clearing his plate. I never piled a lot of food on it, but things were improving. He'd definitely gained a couple of pounds, if not more. I was tempted to run my hands over him to feel the difference, but I could hardly do that. However, when he left later that evening, he reached out to give me a hug and pressed himself against me. I slid my arms around him and ran my hands up and down his back. His spine was less prominent than it had been, and his shoulder blades didn't jut so sharply against his shirt.

"That feels good." Arthur held onto me tighter and tucked his face into my neck. "Nobody has ever held me before."

I knew I shouldn't encourage this, but the more time I spent with him, the fonder of him I became. He had so many problems, and it was tough just being his friend, but it didn't stop me wanting him. I lifted my hand and stroked it over his hair. The strands were silky smooth and smelled of strawberries. If I hadn't done so already, I fell for him a little in that moment, and then things only became more difficult for me.

He slowly pulled away and smiled, shyly meeting my eyes for a second before he looked away. "Goodnight, Rob."

"Goodnight, Arthur. I'll see you tomorrow."

He closed the door behind him, and I stood there fretting, wondering if I should follow and check on him. The last time we had a moment—when he kissed me—he'd said those exact same words, "Goodnight, Rob," and a few hours later, he slashed his wrists.

I barely slept that night. He'd said he wouldn't do it again, but it was only just over a week since his meds were changed. His emotions fluctuated wildly, and the slightest thing could set him off—such as the prospect of having his stitches taken out. The last time he did it was because he wanted to remember the "perfect moment" with me.

I crawled out of bed at four thirty, showered, drank coffee, and continued to worry. I checked the corridor twice to make sure there was no sign of smoke, even though Arthur had stopped smoking. Since he got out of the hospital, I'd never seen him smoke or smelled smoke on him. Eventually, a few minutes before it was time for me to set off for work, I knocked on his door. I couldn't stand it. What if something had happened to him and I didn't even know?

I waited and there was no sound from inside his apartment. It was fifteen minutes past five in the morning. Any person who didn't work shifts was probably asleep, and Arthur was most likely asleep. Or bleeding to death on the kitchen floor. I knew it was neurotic and paranoid of me, but I couldn't help it. I knocked louder. Another minute passed, and when the sound of the door being unlocked reached my ears, my knees went weak.

"Who is it?" Arthur's anxious face appeared in the small gap afforded by the door still on its chain.

"It's Rob."

The door closed quickly, then reopened without the chain on. Arthur stood there in blue pyjamas, eyes wide. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened. I'm sorry, I just, um—"

"You worried I'd do it again. We had a nice moment and I said goodnight like last time, and you thought I might do something to myself." He stepped over his threshold and wrapped his arms around my neck. "I promise I won't. You don't have to worry."

I slid my arms around him and held him tight. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot, and I woke you up."

"It doesn't matter. I like that you worry about me, but you don't need to. Not about that."

Reluctantly, I let him go. "I'd better go to work. I'll see you tonight for dinner."

Arthur smiled. "I'll cook. I'm at the children's hospital again today. I'll get groceries after."

"Okay, that'd be good." I tore myself away and left by the stairs, rather than wait for the lift. "You fucking idiot," I muttered to myself. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

That evening, Arthur cooked lamb chops, rice, and carrots. He even made gravy from granules and put it in a jug. There was chocolate cake for dessert. He picked at his, less enthusiastic than usual, but I didn't comment. Instead, I got him to talk about his day, singing and dancing at the children's hospital and wearing a doctor's white coat over his clown suit. When we finished eating, we watched the Murray Franklin show on the television.

Arthur fidgeted, twisting his hands together and picking at his clothes, distracted despite the show being his favourite. He'd said a number of times that Murray was his hero, and he'd love to be a guest on the show one day. His laughter at Murray's jokes seemed forced.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" I took his hand as he sat beside me.

"Nothing."

"You're anxious about something."

"How do you know me so well?"

"We spend a lot of time together. I'd like to think I understand you pretty well."

"It's nothing," he repeated.

"You know you can tell me anything."

He shook his head and giggled. I dropped it, but it was clear to me that he was getting himself worked up about something. He didn't break into hysterical laughter, or cry, but he didn't relax either. He pulled his hand free of mine and rubbed it over his face. The television show finished, and he turned a little to look at me.

"Rob?"

"What is it?"

"Can I kiss you?"

I hesitated, my heart leaping into a rapid tattoo in my chest. I remembered the feel of his lips on mine, how good he felt in my arms, and I longed to kiss him again. My groin tingled and I knew I'd be hard in an instant if we kissed. But was it really a good idea? No matter how much I wanted to, was it going to be good for him?

"Please?" Arthur added in a small voice, his eyes huge and sad.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I don't want to do anything that affects you negatively."

"You don't want to."

"I do want to. I can promise you that. But you seem to be doing better lately. It's better for us to be friends right now."

"Maybe I should be the judge of what's good for me. The doctors don't know everything. I know I can be crazy and hysterical, but the condition I have doesn't prevent me from knowing what I really want. I know I want to be a stand-up comedian, and I love the job I do. I get praised for it. And I know I want you to kiss me. But if you don't want to, you can tell me. I won't laugh."

I smiled, and he smiled back. He seemed so normal and calm at that moment, and what he said made sense. Perhaps it wouldn't do any harm after all. I leaned closer. My common sense had begun to desert me when I hugged him that morning, after being terrified all night that he might have hurt himself.

I lifted my hand and cupped his face, brushed my thumb over his lips. His eyelids lowered, long thick lashes fluttering slightly. I covered his mouth with mine, caressing his parted lips gently. He hummed with pleasure and slid his arm around my neck. I stopped treating him like he was fragile and didn't know what he wanted. I pulled him closer to me and kissed him like a man I wanted very much. My lips crushed his, and I teased his mouth with my tongue, testing until he thrust back with his own tongue, eager and demanding.

My dick stiffened in my jeans, and I groaned into the kiss, wanting more, imagining us lying on the couch together, our bodies grinding together, items of clothing coming off. I wanted Arthur, more than I'd wanted anyone in a very long time. In fact, I couldn't remember wanting a man this much. Before I was married, and during, my liaisons had been brief, discreet, and then after I wasn't so discreet and got caught, there was barely anything. A couple of fumbles in the dark with guys I met in bars. That was it. With Arthur, I felt so much for him already, it made sparks fly from just a kiss.

Eventually, we drew apart, breathless and flushed. A quick glance showed me he wasn't aroused like I was, and I wondered about it, but I knew the type of medication he was on could affect things that way. He'd never done anything either, so nervousness may play a part. I cross my legs so my state wouldn't be obvious, and tugged him against my side, my arm around his shoulders. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he leaned against me, a slight tremble running through his body.

"You okay?" I murmured.

"Definitely."

I stayed with him until ten o'clock. We watched another television show he liked, that I couldn't remember one moment of when I left. I kissed him goodbye at the door, a soft caress that left me wanting more, but I dragged myself away before it got out of hand. For the first time in a long time, I jerked myself off with the vision in my head of someone real, instead of some imaginary guy or movie star. I imagined Arthur in my bed, his hands on my body and mine on his. Whether or not that would ever happen was a big question, but I allowed it to fuel my excitement that night, and I came harder than I had in months.

The rest of the week followed a similar routine. Arthur and I took turns at cooking dinner, and afterwards me watched television together, and cuddled and kissed. Arthur seemed much calmer, except for one episode on Thursday when he told me about a fight breaking out on the train, and he got scared and laughed. Then two guys shouted at him and looked like they might turn on him He got off the train at the next stop and walked a mile home in order to get away from them. Telling me about it, he struggled to get the words out around bursts of laughter and choking.

He had two appointments with Tom and told me they went well. He worked on his comedy routine and told me jokes to practise, some of which were just okay, but some were downright hilarious and had me clutching my sides.

On Friday, my regular shift came to an end, but I had Saturday off before I started a late one on Sunday. Arthur worked on Saturday, performing at two parties in the afternoon, but we spent the evening together. We ate dinner as usual, then went for a walk, and ended with a television show and more kissing. I loved to see Arthur happy, a smile on his face much of the time he was with me. I only hoped the change to my work routine wouldn't cause too much of a problem for him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

I spent a good part of Sunday with Arthur, until I had to get ready to go to work at four o'clock. With a twelve-hour shift ahead of me, I would end up eating dinner when I got home at five in the morning, then trying to sleep for part of Monday. Arthur swore the change of routine wouldn't upset him, but I couldn't expect him to eat dinner with me when he should be sleeping. I'd become used to a regular day shift, and despite having done it for years, the prospect of going back to days, nights, and anything in between didn't fill me with delight.

By Thursday I was exhausted, and I'd only seen Arthur twice. We hadn't been able to eat together, or spend an evening cuddling in front of the TV. I hated it, and on Friday morning, I found myself idly scanning the employment section in the newspaper. I didn't seriously think about changing my job. I'd always loved it, but things had changed, and I realised Arthur was becoming more important to me. Then a large advertisement on the second page of the section caught my attention, and I paused to read it. A senior nurse was required for a position that had opened up at Arkham Hospital—the asylum. Initially, I dismissed the idea, until I saw the requirement was for ten-hour shifts, five days a week with rotating days off, but the shifts were regular, seven until five with no variations, unless you wanted to do overtime. The pay was more than I was getting—ten percent more. I tore out the ad and put it in my pocket, intending to call and enquire during my break.

That day I saw Arthur at the hospital. He had his second weekly appointment with Tom, and came looking for me when he was done. He dragged his feet, face drawn and sad, and my heart sank. I led him into the relatives' room.

"Hello, Rob." He hovered, hands twisted together, and kept his distance.

"Hey. Come here." I reached for him and he moved slowly into my arms. I didn't care that I was at work. He wasn't my patient, and I couldn't get in trouble. He looked as if he needed a hug.

"I'm okay, Rob." He hugged me back, and leaned his weight against me.

"You look miserable."

"It happens. I'm just having a bad day."

"Any particular reason?" I hoped it wasn't me and the disrupted routine.

"I asked Tom about some things I want to do, and he didn't think it was a good idea. I was nervous before I went to see him. Then I ended up laughing at everything he said. I'm surprised you didn't hear me. I was loud." He sighed. "I was upset."

"What did you ask him?" I ran my hands down Arthur's back, then up again. He was wearing a white shirt with a grey waistcoat over the top, and black slacks. He didn't seem to have a jacket with him, despite it being November. He was still very thin, and after the initial small weight gain, that seemed to have come to a standstill.

Arthur pulled out of my arms and sat down. "Part of it was about my stand-up routine. There's a club that has an open mic night and I wanted to sign up for it. He doesn't think it's a good idea. What do you think?"

"I think you'd be very good, and I'd be there to watch and support you. But you get very nervous sometimes over things, and this is a big step. Do you think you're ready?"

"Well, I did until you and Tom both said the same thing, only he was sterner. He thinks I'll set myself back."

"I'm sorry, Arthur. You know how good I think you are. I don't laugh just to please you. I laugh when you tell me jokes because you're original and funny. I'd love to see you on a stage." The thought actually terrified me, because if his nerves got the better of him, he'd be mortified if he had hysterics of one sort or another in front of everyone in the club. At the same time, he'd been working so hard towards this, and he was genuinely good. "Tom's your doctor," I added. "He's going to want you to be cautious while you get things on track. The new meds are in your system now, and you're eating. Have you been eating this week?"

Arthur flushed. "Yes, but—" He tugged a hand through his hair. "Sometimes I forget. I imagine we'll be having dinner at seven, and then I remember you're at work or asleep, and I mean to put something in the oven, but—" He sighed. "It's not your fault. I should be able to do this simple thing, but it's hard. I'm not used to it. I was used to cooking things for my mother and I barely ate then. I smoked. Then I got used to eating with you and—"

"And now my shifts are all over the place again and your routine is all upset. I know, I'm sorry." I reached for his hand and he squeezed it. "I was thinking about changing my job."

"What? Why would you do that? You love this job!" Arthur eyes widened, and his mouth hung open in almost comically exaggerated shock.

"Yeah, I do. But I'm exhausted this week. I got used to doing two weeks of days shifts, too. I liked it. I liked coming home to have dinner with you every night. I don't know how I kept doing it before, no two days the same. I found this." I slid my other hand into my pocket and pulled out the folded ad from the newspaper. "What do you think? I was going to call them in my break."

"It's your break now," Arthur reminded me, as he looked at the ad. "The asylum? You'd want to work there?"

"It's only five days each week, and only day shifts. Plus it's ten-hour shifts instead of twelves, and yet it's more money than I get here."

"They probably pay danger money." Arthur shrieked with laughter, then clamped his hand over his mouth.

"Don't get upset. Think about it. I'd be home by six every day for dinner. I'd be able to get out of the financial hole I'm still in, and we could do some other things together."

"What things? I like the things we do."

"Anything. Go the movies. A day out of the city. Maybe take a trip on the river. Whatever you want to do, Arthur."

Arthur lowered his head and sighed. "You're talking as if you'll still be around in a few weeks' time."

"I will be. Don't you know how much I care about you? How much I miss spending each evening with you?"

A small smile touched the corners of his mouth. "But you'll get bored with me. I'm not very good company."

"You're wonderful company. You're caring and funny, and you're attractive."

Arthur giggled, and I recognised genuine amusement rather than anxiety. "Am I?"

"I think so."

"But you don't do anything other than kiss me."

My face warmed as I instantly thought of how turned on I got when we kissed, and how often I jerked off, with the exception of the last week when I was simply too tired.

"Not that it matters," Arthur said. "That was the other thing I asked Tom about. He was shocked. He tried to cover it up and act the way he always does, but I could see he was horrified that a crazy person like me would think about that."

"What did you say?"

"I asked him if my new meds are responsible for me not being able to get an erection. I used to get them all the time, but not anymore. That's pretty stupid when you think about it. I've had over twenty years since puberty when I was on a cocktail of drugs that were wrong for me, and I had erections all the time and nobody to share them with. For the first time in my life I have somebody, and I _want_ to have sex and can't."

"Oh, God," I groaned. "You said all this to Tom?"

"Pretty much. Shouldn't I have? I'm sorry." He frowned. "Anyway, you didn't say why you don't do anything other than kiss me. Maybe I'm being too optimistic in telling Tom I want to still get hard."

I snorted, I couldn't help myself.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Sorry. I was just imagining what Tom thought, and it was funny. As to your question, trust me, I do want to do more than kiss. I just think it's too soon and that I'd be taking advantage of you."

"It's not too soon. It's just, um, I can't do anything right now, but it doesn't mean I can't do something for you." Arthur flushed bright red and avoided my eyes.

I leaned closer and kissed his cheek. "I think we should talk about this when we're at home. I still have to work for another six hours," I reminded him.

Arthur laughed. "Anyway, you were going to call the asylum."

"Yes, I was. We'll definitely pick this up later." There was a telephone in the corner of the room, and I used it to call the number on the ad. I answered numerous questions, giving all my details and qualifications, and explaining I was attracted by the regular schedule the most. I was invited for an interview on Monday morning. "I got an interview," I told Arthur. "I hope I get it."

"I hope you get it, too. Good luck." Arthur left a few minutes later, and I spent the last few minutes of my break wolfing a sandwich to keep me going for the rest of my shift.

The hours dragged. I couldn't get what Arthur had said to me out of my mind. Could we have sex, I wondered? We were in a relationship already, if you thought about it. Just because it hadn't been officially defined as one, didn't mean it wasn't genuine. We talked about everything, we spent as much time together as we could, we held hands, and cuddled, and kissed. I could easily love him. His condition and his depression didn't make him incapable of having a proper relationship. I'd done plenty of research on that.

"Rob?" Tom caught me up as I was heading to the lab with some blood samples.

"Hey."

"Did you see Arthur?"

"Yes." I immediately flushed, and cursed my inability to control that aspect of myself.

"Did he tell you what we talked about?"

"Yes. Is it so impossible?"

"Which part? Performing in a comedy club, or having sex? And I'm guessing the second item would be with you."

I glanced at him and didn't answer.

"I'm just concerned about how reliant he is on you. He's been worse this week because his routine's upset now you're back on irregular shifts."

"I'm doing something about that," I muttered.

"Look, Rob, I know this isn't really my business. Not what happens between you two. He's my patient, and I'm concerned, that'll all. I'm trying to help him live as normal a life as he can, but if you do this and things go wrong—"

"They won't. Hold on." I ducked into the lab with the blood samples, logged them, and rejoined Tom. "Why would they go wrong? I'm not going to change my mind about him. I wasn't sure at first, but I am now. I wouldn't even have kissed him if I wasn't sure how I felt. I didn't do anything else because I didn't think he'd be ready for it."

"He's very determined. All set to stop taking the meds if things don't improve for him physically."

I frowned.

"They will, by the way. He's had a shock to the system. He's not on a strong enough dose to make him impotent. It's only been two weeks. Give it a month and I'd say there'll be a marked difference."

"You're not going to try to talk me out of it, then?"

Tom shrugged. "There's nothing to suggest Arthur isn't capable of having a relationship and falling in love. You understand the PBD and his depression. Whenever he says anything positive, it's usually coupled with something to do with you, unless he's talking about his job."

"What do you think about him performing at a comedy club?" I asked. "He said you thought it was a bad idea."

"I think if he gets nervous, he'll have one of his episodes—most likely a bad one. Then he'll be ashamed and embarrassed, and he'll feel like a failure. I know he has these big dreams about being on the stage and making people laugh, even getting invited onto the Murray Franklin show, but realistically? He's better off sticking with his job, where people are guaranteed to laugh and have a good time. I'm sorry, he didn't want to hear that either. But it would be worse if he tried it and failed."

"I understand. I know you're right. Ultimately, it's his decision though. If he does it, I'll be there."

I got back to work, but I couldn't stop thinking about what we'd talked about. Arthur might be amazing on the stage, but if he lost his nerve and it went wrong, all I could was pick up the pieces and make him see he hadn't failed, only been thwarted by his condition.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Luckily, Monday was my day off that week. I put on a suit and went to the interview at Arkham. They were desperate for a new person to fill in the open position, after the previous nurse had suddenly moved out of the city, giving only one week's notice. The two managers interviewing let slip that I was one of only four applicants, and by far the best qualified.

My heart leapt a little in my chest. I was overdue at least three weeks' leave from the city hospital and if I used this in lieu of the month's notice we were supposed to give, I could take the job and start quickly if I was offered it.

"You said in the telephone call you have some experience with mental illness?" was the next question.

"Um, yes. Nothing severe. My sister had depression and anorexia, leading to her death five years ago. My, um, my best friend has pseudobulbar disorder and depression, which led to a recent suicide attempt."

"I'm sorry to hear that," one of the managers, Andrew Washington, frowned.

"Luckily it wasn't successful. He's getting better help now."

"That's good. We have some cases like that in here, but you are aware, I'm sure, that the majority of our patients suffer from psychosis, schizophrenia, and other disorders?"

"Yes, I understand that." I went on to explain I was a fast learner, and added that I would need to discuss with my boss, but that if I were offered the position there was a possibility I could start in a week's time.

The two managers glanced at each other and smiled. It seemed positive to me, and when I left, I was advised I would know the decision by the end of the day. They weren't even going to wait to see if they had any further responses to the ad.

That evening, Arthur had dinner with me in my apartment, and afterwards we did something we could only do infrequently. We watched a TV show together, Arthur pressed close to my side with my arms around him. I rested my chin on top of his head and breathed in the scent of his strawberry shampoo. I longed to be able to do this every evening, but I hadn't had a call from Arkham, and it was past eight o'clock.

The TV show ended, and Arthur turned his face up to kiss me. I covered his mouth with mine and thrust in with my tongue, eager to taste him again. We'd kissed at intervals all evening, and each time stopped reluctantly before things went any further. I'd kept thinking about what he said over the weekend, but I still hadn't instigated anything else. I didn't think it was fair on him when the medication was upsetting his system the way it was, although Arthur didn't seem to think that was a problem.

I pulled my lips from his and sucked in a gasp of shock as his hand came to rest lightly on my erection, trapped and throbbing in my jeans. He lowered his head and avoided my eyes.

"Come on, Rob, let me do this, please." He rubbed his palm lightly over the bulge, and I couldn't stop the groan that burst from me. "You want me to," he added, and chuckled wickedly.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes! If I wasn't still fucked up by the damned pills, I'd be in the same state. Trust me, I will enjoy this, just in a different way."

"All right." I held my breath, watching as his slender fingers slowly opened my fly. My erection pulsed urgently, trying to force its way out of my underwear. It had been far too long since I'd had a man's hand on me besides my own. Far too long wanting Arthur, kissing him, getting hard, and having to deal with it myself in the shower.

Cautiously, he pulled my underwear down and freed me, then wrapped his hand gently around me. "Is this okay?"

"It's more than okay."

He stroked his hand up and down, tentatively, his grip frustratingly loose. I covered his hand with mine and guided it into a tighter fist. He let out a quick giggle.

"You touch yourself?" I murmured. "I mean, before your meds were changed?"

"Yes. All the time." He snorted and flushed. "Well, I mean, a lot. Most days."

"Do it just like that."

"Okay."

I closed my eyes as he began to pump me, slowly at first, then quicker, with a slight twist to his grip.

"Christ, Arthur!" I gasped. "I'm not going to last long."

"I hope not." He chuckled again and brought his other hand in, sliding into my underwear to cup and squeeze my balls.

It didn't take long, as I'd said. The combination of his touch, just right, coupled with how much I'd longed to do _something_ with him, with Arthur, sent me over the edge shamefully quickly. When he released me, he glanced at his fingers, sticky with my fluid, and proceeded to lick them.

"Jesus," I muttered. My spent dick twitched at the sight, and I quickly shoved it back into my underwear and fastened my jeans.

Arthur laughed, low and soft, and looked up with sparkling eyes. "Was it okay?"

"You're amazing." I leaned in to kiss him, a quick brush across his lips before I had to pull back to breathe.

The phone rang, and I cursed quietly, tempted to ignore it.

"It might be about the job," Arthur said. "You should answer it."

"Damn it." Weak-kneed, I got up to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Good evening, is this Robert Meecham?"

"Yes."

"This is Andrew Washington. We met today during your interview at Arkham Hospital."

"Of course. How are you?" I hoped I didn't sound out of breath.

"Well, thank you. I apologise for the lateness of this call. My colleague and I had some decisions to make after we saw the other candidates for the position. We have decided you would be the best person for this job. Ordinarily, we would put this in writing, but given the urgency, written confirmation will follow later should you accept."

"I accept," I said instantly. Every evening free to be with Arthur? Less hours, more money, regular shifts? There was no question I would accept. "I'll speak to my manager in the morning to confirm whether I can use my accrued unused leave in lieu of notice, which I believe I can. That would, in theory, mean I could start with you next week. I should be able to confirm this tomorrow."

"That will be fine, thank you, Robert. We'll have a contract drawn up for you. Perhaps you could call in at some point tomorrow, when convenient, to read and sign it?"

"Certainly. Thank you very much." I turned to Arthur, who was hovering beside me, eyes wide and eager. I grinned and stuck my thumb up.

"In that case, I'll say goodnight, and leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening." Andrew hung up and I put the phone back on its cradle.

"I got the job, Arthur!" I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight. "No more awful mixed shifts. We can get back to our routine."

Arthur's tight grip on me loosened, and he met my eyes, serious and a little sad. "You didn't just do this for me, did you? Please say you didn't. I'm not worth that."

My heart sank, and I cupped his face in my hands. "I promise I didn't. You are very important to me, Arthur, and you _are_ worth it. I can't pretend you're nothing to do with my decision. I want to be here for you every evening. I want to be here for you _for me_, because I love being with you. But there are other factors in this, which I talked to you about. I want the regular schedules for me. I don't want to be tired all the time, sleeping strange times of the day and night, unable to plan anything more than a few days ahead. I want an extra day off a week, and more money. This will make everything so much better."

Arthur smiled. "Then I'm excited for you."

I slid my arms around him again. "Now, where were we? It's still early."

"There's a dance competition on the TV." Arthur pulled free, and much to my surprise, started a few dance moves along with the music coming from the set. He moved in perfect time to the tune, swaying across the carpet, arms held as if he were dancing with an unseen partner.

"You like dancing?"

"Love it. My mother taught me years ago. I just never had anyone to dance with." He turned in a circle and stopped.

"You do now." I reached for his hand and placed it on my shoulder, slid my arm around his waist, and took his other hand. I'd never danced with a man before, and automatically put him in the position of a female partner, then wondered if I was wrong. But he seemed fine with it and began to move again. We danced a slow two-step around the room, in perfect time to the opening song on the show. "You're a great dancer."

"You think so?" Arthur took his hand off my shoulder, stepped back, then spun around, our other hands still joined and held up high. He returned to my arms and carried on dancing with me. "I wish we could dance somewhere other than in your apartment."

"We can. There's a place men can dance together. I've never been, but someone I used to know has been there. We could try it some day if you want to."

"I'd like that." Arthur let go of my hand and slid both arms around my neck. "I want to do everything with you."

We watched the dance show together, and got up again after a while to dance along with the contestants. Arthur went back to his apartment at nine thirty, and I went to bed. Tomorrow, I would hand in my notice at work, and hopefully things would improve for both Arthur and me.

My manager was saddened by my decision, but I explained my reasonings, including the fact that I had a close friend who needed a steady routine and that my two weeks of regular day shifts had made me realise how much better that was for both of us. I was allowed to use my three weeks and two days overdue leave in lieu of notice, meaning I only had to work the rest of the week, leaving me free to start my new job the following Monday.

I telephoned Andrew Washington in my break, and promised to call and see him as soon as I could to sign the contract. He explained that he would be available as long as necessary, and that if I wanted to call and see him after my shift finished, it didn't matter that it would be after eight in the evening. I went straight to Arkham after work and spent half an hour talking over my new duties, reading and signing the contract, and providing copies of my qualifications which I'd taken to work with me that morning, in case they were needed. I'd telephoned Arthur in my break to let him know I would be home early enough to see him, and had left a message on his answering machine, given he was out working himself.

I didn't get to see him again until Thursday. I had a night shift and by the time I got home in the mornings, he had left for work, and when he returned, I was sleeping. I called and left messages for him each day, and when I arrived home in the early hours of Thursday morning, there was a message on my machine from him.

I listened, grinning, to his nervous and polite message. "Hello, um, Rob. This is Arthur, um, Arthur Fleck. I hope you had a good day, um, night at work. Today I worked at the children's hospital again. I will look forward to seeing you soon. Goodbye." There was a moment when I could hear him breathing before he hung up his phone.

I went to bed, and when I woke, it was around the time Arthur usually got home. I showered and dressed, and went to knock on his door. As I was waiting for him to answer, the lift doors opened and he stepped out.

"Hello, Rob. I'm late. I missed the train." He pulled out his keys and opened the door.

"Thank you for your message on my phone." I followed him into the apartment, closed the door, and slid my arms around him. "I missed you this week. Are you okay?"

"Not too bad. You know, the usual." He hugged me back. "I'm glad you called every day."

"Only two more shifts," I told him. "Tomorrow I'm on four until four."

"So you finish at four in the afternoon?" He pulled free and took off his jacket.

"Yes. We can have dinner together. It's the same shift on Saturday and then I'm finished."

"Do you, um, do you have any plans tomorrow night?" Arthur bit his lip nervously.

"Yes."

His face fell.

"I'll be spending the evening with you," I added.

His lips twitched, but didn't make it into a smile. He laughed, not the laugh of genuine pleasure I'd been hearing much more lately, but his anxious, on the verge of having hysterics laugh.

"Arthur, take a breath. Look at me." I reached for him and grasped his hands in mine. "Did something happen today?"

He laughed again. "No. I, um, I signed up for the open mic night tomorrow. I'm so stupid. I'm scared I'll be useless. But I wanted you to come and be there in case—" He laughed louder, pulled his hands free, and pressed them over his mouth. He was shaking. "In case I mess it up and, you know, get upset."

"Of course I'll be there." I smiled, swallowing the jolt of fear as I thought about how nervous he was now, just thinking about it, and hoped to God he wouldn't, as he said, "mess it up and get upset."

"Oh! Good." He huffed out a breath. "Can I show you my material tonight? You can tell me if you think it's good enough."

"Absolutely. Now, who's making dinner tonight? Do you want me to?"

"It's my turn."

"But you should practise your routine." I knew what would happen if he cooked tonight. He was already anxious. He'd probably burn something, or make some other mistake, then be even more upset because he spoiled the dinner. "Why don't you get your journal and come over to mine, and I'll cook us some lamb and potatoes while you go through your jokes?"

"Okay. Yes. Thank you." Arthur dumped his bag, found his journal, and locked up before we went back to my apartment.

I hoped, with everything I had in me, that things would go well for him tomorrow. He'd been doing so much better lately, and despite what Tom and I had said, he was determined to perform. If it went wrong, it could potentially cause a giant backwards step for him.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

I worried about Arthur all through Friday's shift. He'd practised his jokes on me after dinner on Thursday evening, and all of them made me laugh. He was good—very good—but I knew he was terrified of failing, and I was just as terrified that the experience would go badly because of his condition, and ruin his dreams of being a comedian.

I got home at five and quickly prepared omelettes for dinner. Arthur picked at his, unable to sit still and eat properly. He managed a few bites, then went back to his apartment to take a bath and get dressed. While he was gone, I did the same. He returned at six thirty, wearing a brown suit with a waistcoat, and a white shirt. His hair was still damp, but he looked nice, and he was wearing cologne.

I took his hands and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. "You smell good."

Arthur smiled nervously.

"What time are you on?"

"Eight o'clock. Maybe I shouldn't do it." He pulled away and paced, wringing his hands. "This was a stupid idea. How could I think I could do it? Why didn't you tell me I'm hopeless at making people laugh? Then I wouldn't have put myself in this position."

"You're genuinely funny, Arthur," I said. "You make me laugh."

"You laugh to make me feel good."

"I laugh because you're funny. You know how good I think you are."

"Just because you do, doesn't mean anyone else will." He dragged his hands through his hair, then walked to the door and banged his forehead on it, hard. There had been a repetitive banging noise coming from his apartment when I first met him, and I wondered if this was what it had been.

"Arthur, stop." I grabbed him before he could do it again and turned him around. "Don't hurt yourself. Listen to me. You can do this. You're brilliant at comedy. I have every faith in you. But if you don't want to put yourself through it, it doesn't matter. You can let them know you're not going. Or I can. I know how much you want to do it, though. If you can calm yourself, just a bit, it'll be okay."

"You think so?" He met my eyes, his wide and scared, like the proverbial rabbit caught in the headlights.

"Yes, I do."

"Okay. Let's go, then." Arthur grabbed his journal and his keys, and headed for the door, just like that.

We arrived at the club, Pogo's at seven fifteen, and Arthur let the organisers know he had arrived, then paced the gloomy corridor, reading jokes from his journal under his breath. As the time crept towards eight o'clock, his nervousness increased and he gave up trying to practise. I managed to get him to calm down a little, but at fifteen minutes before eight, he lost the last little shred of confidence he had, and started to laugh.

"Shit," I muttered, as he leaned against the wall, hands clamped to his mouth in an effort to suppress the laughter, resulting in gasping and choking. His eyes watered and he gave up trying to smother his laughter, bending double as it burst from him in loud guffaws. "Arthur." I put my hand on his back and grasped one of his hands. "Take a breath. You're okay."

"Sure. I'm fine," he shrieked, and laughed some more before making another attempt to stop it. A minute later, he rushed into the toilets and began throwing up the meagre contents of his stomach. I picked up his journal, which he'd dropped on the floor, and took care of him when it was over. His laughter gave way to tears, and he sobbed uncontrollably in my arms.

I hated to leave him, but I knew he'd feel even worse if the compere announced him at eight o'clock and he didn't show. I made him sit on a bench outside the toilets, and rushed up the stairs towards the stage to find someone. It was two minutes to eight.

"Hey, you can't be up here unless you're a performer." A huge man that looked like a security guard stepped in front of me.

"I need to let them know that Arthur Fleck won't be on stage. He's been taken ill," I said.

"Right. And you are?"

"I work at the hospital. I'm a nurse."

"Okay. Wait here." The man disappeared through a door, and a minute later returned to me.

Before the door closed, I heard the compere speaking into his microphone. "Unfortunately our eight o'clock slot isn't able to appear tonight, so please welcome John Smart!"

I heaved a sigh of relief. They didn't even mention Arthur's name. "Thanks, " I said to the security guy, and ran back down the stairs to find Arthur. He wasn't where I'd left him, or in the toilets. I left the building and found him pacing in the yard to the side, tugging his hands through his hair, tears pouring down his face in shining rivulets as they caught the light from a nearby street lamp.

"Arthur. It's okay, I told them you're sick and it's fine." I caught him and made him stand still.

"It's not okay. I failed. I'm a failure. I let everyone down."

"You're not a failure. Your nerves got the better of you, that's all. I know you can do it, but tonight wasn't the night. You haven't let anyone down. The compere said the eight o'clock slot couldn't make it and introduced someone else. Your name wasn't mentioned."

"It doesn't matter. I still let them down. They'll never book me again. Not that there's any point. I'm useless." He sniffed and wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. Tears continue to drip down his face. "Look at me. I'm pathetic. Why are you even here? You could have so much more with somebody else. Somebody normal."

"I don't want anybody else, Arthur, I want you," I said firmly. It wasn't the right time, not at all, but I said it anyway. I cupped his wet face in my hands and made him look at me. "I love you, Arthur. Just you."

"You love me?" His eyes widened in shock, then he started to laugh again, terrible shrieking sounds of hysteria until he couldn't breathe, and he subsided into choking gasps. He leaned against the damp wall of the building for support, and I stepped closer and slid my arms around him.

"It's all right, Arthur. Just breathe. I'm not going anywhere."

Around twenty minutes passed before we were able to leave the yard outside the club. Arthur's feet dragged and scuffed along the pavement as we walked back to the station, his shoulders slumped and head hanging. He was barely able to propel himself along, and I would have given anything to hold his hand, or rest my arm around him, but I couldn't. The streets were becoming busy with Friday night revellers on their way to bars and clubs, and it would have drawn too much attention. The last thing Arthur needed was homophobic slurs when he was already in such a fragile state.

The journey on the train seemed endless, and when we alighted at the other end and faced the dozens of steps leading up to the street where the apartment blocks stood, I wished I'd called a cab instead. Arthur dragged himself up the steps, one at a time, as if he were climbing a mountain. Halfway up, tears spilled over again and dripped down his face as he struggled up each step. I glanced around us, established not a soul was in sight, and moved closer to his side. I put my arm around his waist, gripping him tight to support him, and held his hand in my free one. We climbed the rest of the mountain together, one step at a time.

When we reached Arthur's door, he pulled out his key, but his shaking hand couldn't get it in the lock. I took it from him and went in with him.

"You should go." He sniffed and avoided looking at me.

"I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight," I said firmly.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. I'm not leaving you alone."

"I won't do anything."

"I know you won't. I'm still staying." I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on a peg beside the door. Then I helped him out of his suit jacket and hung that up, too. "Let's have a hot drink and watch some TV for a while." I would be exhausted in the morning, when I had to go to work at four again, but I didn't care. It would be my last shift and I could sleep all day on Sunday if I needed to. Nothing would have made me leave Arthur, even if I had to stay up all night talking to him.

Arthur sat down in front of the silent television. I turned it on for him, then went into his kitchen and made some hot chocolate. I added extra sugar and marshmallows to his, then sat beside him as he sipped it, silent and depressed, as if I wasn't even there. Eventually, he put the empty mug down and twisted his hands together, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His legs twitched and shook, and he breathed in short gasps. I'd never seen him this bad. I slid my arm around him and pulled him against my side.

"You didn't fail, Arthur," I said again. "It wasn't the right time, that's all."

"It'll never be the right time. Can you imagine how bad it would be if I got on stage and then this happened? People would laugh all right, and not because I'm funny. They'd laugh at the freak laughing to himself."

"Well, that didn't happen. It's fine. No one saw you, and they didn't even know you should have been there. The compere didn't mention your name," I repeated.

"Was he mad?"

"No. I told the security guard you'd been taken ill. It wasn't a problem."

Arthur nodded. "Taken ill. I like that." He laughed mirthlessly. "I'm permanently ill. I could make that into a joke." It seemed he would become hysterical again, but instead, he slumped lower on the sofa in silence. "I am so tired."

"Let's get some sleep." I got up and pulled him to his feet.

"You don't have to stay."

"I'm staying," I said firmly. I ushered him towards his bedroom. "Do you want to go to the bathroom?"

"Um, yeah, I guess." He pulled away, went into the bathroom, and closed the door in my face.

I went into his bedroom and turned back the bed. His blue pyjamas were on the pillow. I looked in his drawers for another pair and found the red flannel ones. The jacket would never fit me, but the trousers were baggy and had an elastic waist, so I imagined they would be okay. I stripped down to my underwear and tried them on, and they fit me fine.

Arthur shuffled into the room, still fully dressed, as miserable as I'd ever seen him. He sat on the edge of the bed and slowly began to unbutton his waistcoat, fumbling each button until he gave up halfway down and let his hands dangle between his knees.

"Hey, let me help." I crouched down in front of him to unfasten his shoes, took them off, then pulled off his socks. He didn't speak as I finished unbuttoning the waistcoat, then his shirt, and took both off. "Stand up."

He did so, silent and obedient like a child, and made no sign he was aware of what I was doing when I undid his pants and let them fall to the floor. He wore plain white underwear, threadbare and loose as if he'd had the same pair for years. His body was so horribly thin. I'd never seen him virtually naked, and it shocked me to see how concave his stomach was, how his hip bones jutted against his skin, and his legs as skinny as those of a person who spent his life in a wheelchair.

I reached for the pyjama pants and guided his feet into them, pulled them up to his waist, and stood up. When I'd put the pyjama jacket on him and fastened it, he slid into the bed without a word and curled up on his side. I took a quick trip to the bathroom, turned off the lights, and climbed into the other side of the bed.

"Arthur, come here. Turn over," I said softly.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then he rolled over to face me. I slid one arm under his neck and the other around his waist to draw him against my body. He lay stiff and unresponsive at first, then brought one hand up to my chest to rest over my heart and nestled against me, his face in my neck and warm breath brushing my throat.

"I'm glad you were there," he whispered.

I brushed my lips against his temple. "I meant what I said. I love you."

"I know." He didn't say it back, but I didn't care about that. The way he always looked at me told me how he felt. All I wanted was for him to know how _I_ felt, and that he could be sure I wouldn't walk away.

I woke once during the night to find Arthur still in my arms, holding onto me as if he feared I'd slip away while he slept. I drifted away again and the next time I opened my eyes, he was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside me, holding a mug of coffee and a plate of toast.

"Wake up, sleepyhead." He smiled and held the coffee mug closer to me. "It's just before three. I thought you'd want breakfast."

"You got up to make breakfast for me? In the middle of the night?" I'd completely forgotten about my alarm clock, left behind in my apartment, and the fact that I had to go and start my last shift at four.

"Of course. You're always here for me when I need you. More than ever last night. You have to get up and go to work. I don't want you to be late."

"You're amazing." I sat up and took the mug of coffee. "Thank you, Arthur."

"I should be the one doing the thanking. I don't know what I'd have done last night if I was at that club on my own. I don't even remember getting home or coming to bed. Was it bad?"

"You were very upset."

Arthur nodded. "I should have known that would happen. I was too nervous. But I will do it someday soon. I won't fail by quitting before I start. I'll stand up there and do my act, and if nobody laughs, well then I'll accept I'm no good. But I have to try it first or I'll never know."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

I made it to work on time, thanks to Arthur. It was Saturday, but for once my shift wasn't so busy that I didn't get the chance to enjoy the little farewell party my colleagues had arranged in the staff room. There were balloons, cake, glasses of juice, and a gift bag containing a bottle of wine, some fancy cheeses, chutney, crackers, and chocolate truffles, plus a "Good luck in your new job" card.

I had another ten-minute break in the early afternoon, enough time to have a coffee, and the last couple of hours of my shift raced by. Suddenly, it was over and I was handing in my scrubs and my security pass, emptying my locker, and saying goodbye to the colleagues who were around. I looked for Tom before I left, and found he had just finished seeing a patient and was free for a while.

"So, you're off. You know, we must get together socially again. It's been ages," he said.

"Definitely. You've got my number, and I'll let you know how I get on in the new job."

"How's Arthur? He seemed very jumpy at his last appointment, but he wouldn't say if anything particular was bothering him."

"He was planning to perform at the open mic night he talked about," I told him. "I'm sure he'll tell you at his appointment on Monday."

Tom frowned. "How did it go?"

"It didn't. He lost his nerve before it was time for his slot. I told them he was sick and we left. He had a pretty bad night."

"I wish he hadn't done that. If I'd known I'd have tried to talk him out of it."

"That's probably why he didn't tell you. He was determined. He needs support, not telling not to do something. I wanted to tell him not to do it, but it's his dream. All I can do is encourage him, and pick up the pieces if it goes wrong."

Tom sighed. "I hope he doesn't try to hurt himself again."

"He won't. I stayed with him last night to make sure he was okay. He was much better this morning."

"Maybe you're right." Tom laughed suddenly. "Telling me my job, now, huh? But you know him better than me. Everyone is different. I think you really help him, if I'm honest. He's better when you do things together regularly."

"I think things will settle down again now I'm done with the awkward shift pattern. He liked the routine when I had those two weeks of day shifts."

"Well, you can give me a call any time you want, if you need any help. Take care, Rob. Keep in touch."

"I will." We shook hands and I left. I was home by five, preparing a meal ready to start cooking when Arthur came home. I made his favourite—lamb, potatoes, and peas. Just before six, there was a quiet tap on my door.

"Hello, Rob." He was smiling when I opened the door.

"Hey, Arthur." I didn't have time to say anything else, before he flung his arms around me and kissed me, hard and fast at first, then deep, sensual, and with lots of tongue. My blood rushed south and I struggled to keep enough awareness about me to pull him inside and close the door. Then I found myself pinned to the wall, with Arthur's body pressed against mine, his mouth continuing to devour me, until he had to stop to breathe. "Wow. That was quite a greeting." I slid my hands around his waist, and looked into his sparkling green eyes.

"I love you," he said. "I couldn't say it when you did. I was a mess and it would have sounded pathetic. Like I was just saying it because I was desperate for you to stay, or because you said it first. And I was scared because I never felt that way before and I had nothing to compare it to. But I know I love you. I have done for a long time. Since you took me to the hospital when I cut myself. You saved my life. You did that again last night, figuratively speaking. I wouldn't have hurt myself, but I was—well, I was worse than I've been in a long time. But I'm better than I've ever been when I'm with you. And I don't ever want to hurt myself again, because it would hurt you. That's how I know I love you."

"I love you, too, Arthur." I ran my hands up and down his back. He was wearing a soft green shirt and black pants. "This is a nice shirt. Green suits you."

"It's new. I bought it with a little money I had left from my last pay-check." He moved away from me and glanced towards the kitchen. "You're cooking my favourite. I can smell it."

"The butcher does me a deal now, I buy it so often. If I buy five pounds of it, he gives me an extra two pounds free."

"I need to have a word with him. He charges me the going rate." Arthur made a face. "Maybe if I tell him jokes he'll give me a discount. Why did the butcher get fired? He kept playing with his meat in front of the customers."

I snorted. "Good one."

"I went on a date with a girl who said she loved animals," Arthur continued. "I told her, 'I work with animals every day.' She said, 'Oh, that's so sweet. What do you do?' I replied, 'I'm a butcher!'"

"Oh my God." I laughed out loud.

Arthur continued entertaining me while I finished the dinner. We ate together with trays on our laps as usual, and shared the chocolate truffles my colleagues gave me, for dessert. Arthur ate every scrap of food on his plate, and half the truffles.

After we'd cleared away the dishes, we watched the Murray Franklin show, then a music programme. We got up and danced to some of the songs the way we had before. When a romantic tune came on, I drew Arthur closer, holding him against my body with an arm tight around his waist. We shuffled around together, still moving in time with the music, staring into each other's eyes like a pair of lovesick teenagers. Arthur's long slender fingers stroked the nape of my neck below my hair, and gradually we leaned in closer until our lips met in a gentle caress.

Considering how inexperienced Arthur was, he had very quickly become an amazing kisser and as usual, the feel of his lips on mine set my heart racing and pumping my blood to my groin. I was about to pull away from him when I felt a firm nudge against my thigh. He was hard.

"Oh!" He drew away with a giggle and put his hands over his mouth. "I wasn't expecting, um—"

"You get me in that state all the time," I said. "You okay?"

"Yeah." His cheeks flushed and his eyes shone.

"Come here. Keep dancing with me." I pulled him into my arms again. "Enjoy it. We don't have to do anything else."

He slid both arms around my neck and tentatively moved closer, until his erection bumped against mine, separated by four layers of clothing, but delightful none the less. As we shuffled around the living room together, bodies swaying and brushing against each other, our groins rubbed together. Arthur groaned and squirmed, and hid his face in my neck. I kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. He turned his head so our lips fitted together, and I slid my tongue in. He whimpered and pressed tighter against me. Our feet stopped moving and we stood still, kissing and gently rolling our hips to rub against each other. Then Arthur tore his lips from mine.

"Oh, God, Rob. Fuck. Sorry. I need to—" His body shook in my arms and he pressed his hot face into my neck. "Damn it."

"It's okay. Now you know how you make me feel."

"Embarrassed and messy?" Arthur chuckled.

"No, unbelievably turned on. Haven't you ever wondered why I keep my lower half away from you when we're kissing?"

Arthur giggled again, a genuine laugh instead of a nervous one. "I can't believe that happened. The first time in weeks I'm not dead from the waist down, and I shoot off like a teenager."

"It doesn't matter. We have all the time in the world."

Arthur pried his lower body off mine and glanced down. "Are you going to let me deal with that for you?"

"If you want to."

Apparently forgetting his discomfort, he reached down and unzipped my pants, slid his hand inside, and drew my dick out of my underwear. He rubbed his thumb over the leaking tip, and I groaned.

"God, Arthur, that feels good."

"What about this?" He lowered himself to his knees, and licked my tip instead.

"Shit."

"Is this okay?" He looked up at me, eyes wide and questioning.

"It's more than okay. But only do it if you want to."

"I want to. I watched a video, so I know what to do." He huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

Arthur watched porn? Somehow I couldn't picture it, but obviously he had. God alone knew how he'd had the courage to go into one of _those_ stores and buy it.

I groaned as he wrapped a hand around my shaft and licked the crown. He was careful and tentative, apparently experimenting with things he'd seen. It was a little clumsy, a little stop-and-start, but it was incredible because it was him. He stroked, and licked, and squeezed my sac with his free hand. He worked his tongue all the way down to the base of my erection, then back up before drawing the head into his mouth. I moaned, and reached out to rest my hand on the mantlepiece to steady myself. My legs were shaking, and tingling heat crawled up my spine.

"Hell, Arthur, I'm almost there," I panted. "You'd better stop." I didn't want him to choke when I came, but he didn't stop. He carried on sucking the tip, and stroking with both hands until I couldn't hold back any more. I shot my load into his mouth, and he swallowed, then pulled off and let the remainder spurt into his hands. He produced a handkerchief to wipe up the mess, then I tucked myself away as he got to his feet.

"Was it okay?" He grinned shyly.

"More than okay." I drew him close to me, and immediately felt he was hard again.

He giggled. "Um, yeah, it seems once wasn't enough."

"Can I?" I asked permission. I didn't want to just assume he'd be okay with me touching him, despite what he'd done for me.

"Yes. Please."

"Sit down." I guided him to the sofa and when he sat, I kneeled in front of him and pushed his legs apart. His erection tented his slacks, and self-conscious, he covered it with his hands. "It's okay, Arthur." I pulled his hands away and unzipped his trousers. He put his hands over his red face instead. "Do you want me to stop?"

He shook his head. "Nobody's ever seen me before. Not that part. I mean, other than doctors. And my mother when I was a kid."

"Okay. But if I do anything you don't want, tell me, all right?" I turned my attention back to the new, white, very wet underwear he had on, and lowered them to release his erection. Long and thick, it sprang free and slapped against the shirt covering his belly. He groaned, apparently in embarrassment, and folded his arms in front of his face. His legs quivered and he breathed fast and uneven. I hesitated, wondering if his nervous laughter would start, but it didn't happen.

I curled my fingers around his erection, near the base, and squeezed gently, then stroked upwards to the tip and rubbed my thumb over it, the way he had mine.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"Is this okay?" I murmured, continuing to stroke him. His fluid from his previous orgasm slicked the way, and my hand slid up and down easily.

"Don't stop." The words were so quiet, I barely heard them.

I leaned forward, ran my tongue around his crown and tasted the lingering musky saltiness he'd shot into his underwear. He whined and squirmed, but lowered his arms suddenly and clenched his fists at his side instead. He rolled his head back, eyes closed, mouth open as he gasped for breath. I drew his tip into my mouth and sucked gently, gradually going farther down until I was swallowing half of his length. Despite having already come once, I felt his orgasm building, the base of his dick thickening and throbbing.

"Rob. Wait. I'm, um, I'm gonna, um, fuck, stop!" he panted.

I reached for his hand with my free one, caught it in mine and squeezed tight. His nails dug into my palm and his fluid spilled onto my tongue. I swallowed, pulled off with a gentle pop, and got off my knees quickly to take him in my arms. He was shaking from head to foot. Ignoring my embrace, he shoved himself back into his underwear and zipped up.

"Okay?" I touched his face. "Arthur?"

His eyes met mine, pupils huge. "Yeah." A giggle escaped, but he grinned, too. "That was, um, wow."

I kissed his cheek, his skin still bright and hot. "Do you want to stay the night with me, Arthur?"

"I'd like that. And it'll be much better than last night. I just need to get some things from my apartment." He slipped away and let himself out. I had a quick freshen up in the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Then watched TV while I waited for Arthur.

He was gone a long time and I began to wonder if he'd changed his mind, or was embarrassed to come back, but eventually he opened the door and came back in, wearing different clothes and carrying a small bag. "I needed to clean up," he explained. "I had a bath."

I grinned. "I did, too. Well, not a bath, but a clean-up." I went to lock the door and put the chain on. "No work tomorrow, so you don't have to get up at three and make me breakfast."

"I would, though, if you did have to work."

"I know you would. But the mixed shifts are all over now. I'll be setting off for work at six every day, and only five days a week. Tomorrow, we have all day to do what we want, if you're not working."

"I'm not. No parties this Sunday."

"Good, so we can do something together if you want to." I led him into the bedroom and carried on talking while I started getting undressed. I sensed he would have an attack of shyness again, so I made the getting ready for bed process no big deal by rambling about different things to do. Arthur followed my example, stripped down to his underwear—a fresh blue pair—and put on pyjama pants. By the time we got into the bed, we had decided to travel out of the city on the train and spend the day away from the bustle and dirt and smog. There was a small town on the coast an hour north. We would go there and look around, have lunch, and relax.

Arthur snuggled close to me without waiting to be invited. I slid my arms around him and stroked one hand over his back. We hadn't bothered with pyjama shirts, and his skin was warm and smooth under my touch. I moved my hand around to his chest and felt his heart beating, a little too fast. His pecs were a little soft, covered with a sprinkling of chest hair. I hadn't taken the time to notice every detail before. The only times I'd seen him undressed, he'd been upset and needed me to help him.

Arthur ran his hand over my chest in response. "You feel good. Much better than me. Muscly."

"I just have a bit more meat on my bones, that's all. I don't really work out, other than in my job."

"I'll eat more," Arthur said. "I am trying to. Sometimes it's hard, because I've never eaten properly. But I look in the mirror and I hate the way I look. Then I see you and I want to be like this." He ran his hand down to my waist.

"It'll happen. We can eat together every day now. That'll help."

"Yeah." He slid his hand around to my back and hugged me tight. "I love you."

"I love you, too." I kissed his temple and closed my eyes. He would be okay, I thought. It wouldn't always be easy, being with him, but there was no way I would be without him now.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

When I woke with sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, for a moment I wasn't sure if I was dreaming. I was wrapped around Arthur, his back to my chest, my face in his strawberry-scented hair. I became aware of his heartbeat, slow and steady, under my hand, the sound of his soft even breathing as he slept, my erection nestled in the crack of his ass, separated only by two pairs of thin pyjama pants and underwear. A smile stretched my mouth, and I tried to stay still and quiet so as not to wake him. Then his breathing changed, and he stirred, his hand covering mine where it rested on his chest.

Carefully, I attempted to move my lower body away from his, but he pulled my arm tighter around himself and wiggled back against me, deliberately rubbing his ass against my aching groin.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah. I'm awake." He laughed softly. "So are you."

"I hold you entirely to blame."

"I don't know what you mean." He sounded so innocent as he pressed himself harder against me and pushed my hand down his body to cup the bulge in his pyjamas. "I think you're the one who's to blame. I've never done anything like this in my life."

"I'm glad to hear it. I like being the only one to touch you." I kissed his ear.

"I like you being the only one to touch me." He squeezed my hand around his erection and groaned. "Make me come, Rob, please."

"Jesus." Where was his shyness and embarrassment from last night? I pulled free of his grip so I could slide my hand down the front of his pyjama pants and underwear and curl my fingers around his shaft. He hummed his approval and thrust himself more firmly into my fist. His ass rubbed against me, making me gasp. I tried to suppress my own longing and concentrated on him instead. He writhed in my arms, moaning and grunting unselfconsciously as I stroked him slow but firmly, using his leaking precome to ease the way.

It didn't take long. He came in thick pulses, soaking his underwear and coating my hand, a strangled cry bursting from his lips as his body shook in my arms. He lay trembling and gasping for a moment, then abruptly pulled away and sat up. "Your turn."

I rolled onto my back as Arthur tugged at my clothing, dragging both layers down over my hips to free me. He grasped my erection in one hand and cupped my sac in the other, no hesitation this time. Instantly, he was stroking, squeezing, tugging, all at once, studiously watching his hands and panting for breath along with me.

"Shit!" I gasped. I wanted to tell him to slow down, but my balls ached, and I wanted to shoot so badly, I just went with it. I didn't last any longer than he had, and I finished, gasping and laughing as ropes of come spattered across my chest. Arthur took his hands off me and wiped them on his thighs, grinning from ear to ear.

"Jesus Christ," I panted. I grabbed him around the waist, hauled him down beside me, and rolled over, pinning him beneath me. "You are going to be the death of me." I lowered my head for a kiss, still breathless.

Arthur's eyes went wide. A laugh burst from him, wild and loud—one that wasn't going to stop. He lifted his hands to his face, pressing them to his mouth to keep it in, resulting in choking and gasping. He closed his eyes and laughed more.

"Oh, God, Arthur." I slid off him quickly and sat up, pulling him up with me. "I'm sorry. Look at me."

He shook his head, his laughter growing louder and more out of control. Tears squeezed from his eyes and he lowered his head, struggling to suppress the hysteria. "I—ha, ha, ha—sorry, I need—ha, ha, ha, ha—" He gave up trying to talk, wrenched away from me, and fled the room.

"Arthur!"

He fumbled with the chain on the door, fingers uncoordinated as he shook all over. His laughter stopped abruptly and became heaving sobs as I reached him. Gently, I put my hands on his shoulders and turned him towards me.

"Don't," he choked. "Need to go. Sorry. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. I scared you. I didn't mean to." I tried to put my arms around him, but he pulled away and turned back to the door. The chain wouldn't cooperate, and before I could stop him, he smashed his forehead into the door with a loud thud. "Don't, Arthur, let me." I reached past him, unhooked the chain and turned the key.

A moment later, he was racing down the corridor to his own apartment, still wearing only his pyjama pants. I stood there, helpless, watching, as he realised he didn't have the key to get in, and proceeded to beat his fists on the door.

"Shit," I muttered. "Shit, shit." I grabbed my own keys. After he'd cut his wrists, I'd kept a spare key for his place with his agreement. Pausing for only a second to wipe the white streaks off my chest, I ran down the corridor to him and unlocked the door, then pressed the key into his hand. I meant to go in with him, but he slipped through the door, slammed it closed, and locked it. At least he didn't put the chain on. Immediately, there was silence from within.

I didn't know what to do. I was terrified he would do something to himself, despite him having said he would never do that again. He was panicked, upset, probably not thinking what he was doing, but he clearly needed to be away from me. I had to respect that, while every inch of me ached to go and find his key and let myself in to check on him. I stood there, fists clenched, until a gentle voice made me jump out of my skin.

"Rob? Are you all right?"

I turned around, hoping to God I didn't still have come on me anywhere. "Sophie. Hi." I folded my arms across my chest, just in case, then glanced down, cringing at the thought there might be a wet patch around my crotch—there wasn't.

"Is Arthur okay? I heard… something."

"He's upset. He'll be all right. He needs some time."

"Can I do anything?"

I shook my head. "Don't worry, it's all fine." I dragged myself away from the door and went back to my apartment. What else could I do? If I forced my way in, I could upset him more.

I took a quick bath and dressed, a sick feeling in my stomach the whole time. I made coffee but couldn't even think about eating breakfast. I should have been eating breakfast with Arthur, planning our day out together. Instead, he was having a bad episode because of me. I did that to him.

I punched the kitchen door, denting the cheap wood and bruising my knuckles. I rubbed my hand, cursing, and picked up the phone instead. Even if he didn't answer, maybe he'd listen if I talked to the answering machine. I dialled quickly and waited for the beep—as predicted, he didn't pick up.

"Arthur, it's Rob. I'm so sorry I upset you. I know you need some space right now, but I'm here all day. I'm not going out. I just want to know you're okay. Maybe you could call me back or come over later when you feel better. I love you; I didn't mean to hurt you. I hope you know I was playing around. I would never force you into anything. Just let me know you're okay, Arthur."

It didn't seem like enough. I wanted to be with him, to wrap my arms around him and tell him it was okay, but at the moment it was the last thing he needed. I decided to give him a bit of time, then go and check on him and make sure he was all right, but after another ten minutes all I could see in my head was Arthur lying on the kitchen floor covered in blood. I searched through his trousers, which were neatly folded on a chair near my bed and found his key. Then I went to his apartment, hoping he hadn't left my key in the other side of the door.

I was able to unlock the door without any trouble. I slipped inside and closed it behind me. "Arthur?" There was no sound in the apartment—no television or radio, no hint of anyone moving around. "Are you here?" Of course he was here. I doubted he'd go out, the way he was.

I walked down the narrow hall and checked his bedroom. He wasn't there. I had to steel myself to look in the kitchen, and there I stopped, puzzled, and stared at the scattered food items on the floor. Packs of sliced bread, a carton of milk, vegetables, all thrown around as if they'd been dragged from their shelves. Then I saw them and the salad box, removed from the fridge and tossed aside. "Oh my fucking God," I muttered. How long had I left him? Thirty minutes? I pulled open the door of the fridge, my heart thudding in terror.

I don't know how he'd squeezed in there. Although thin, he was tall, but somehow, he'd folded himself into a foetal position and pulled the door shut behind him. His face was hidden against his knees, his whole body trembling. He still wore only his pyjama pants.

"Arthur?" I touched his arm. "Come out, darling."

He didn't move. I slid my hand under his knees and turned his legs so they unfolded, his bare feet landing on the linoleum. I reached in, put my hands beneath his armpits, and carefully tugged him out and into my arms. His body was ice cold, but he was shivering and breathing, thank God. I gathered him up, carried him into the bedroom, and put him in the bed. With the blankets wrapped tightly around him, I lay down, too, close enough to warm him, but without restraining him. I stroked his hair, waiting for him to make some sign he was aware of what was going on.

After about fifteen minutes, he stopped shivering and licked his lips. "Rob?"

"Yeah. Why did you do that, huh?"

"Do what?"

"Get in the fridge."

"I needed to get away."

"You could have died in there." My voice shook, and I cleared my throat. "What do you think would have happened if I hadn't come and found you?"

"I'd have got out. I didn't intend to kill myself. Just get away for a few minutes."

"If you passed out from the cold, you'd have got away forever."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. You were scared. I was just fooling around, but I didn't think about what I was doing."

"I wasn't scared. It wasn't what you think." He looked up and met my eyes. "You think I was scared you were going to fuck me, don't you?"

"I—well, yes."

"It wasn't that. I want to do that. You pinned me down. I guess I had a memory of being trapped—chained up and unable to do anything about it. I panicked. I'm okay now."

"God, Arthur, I'm so sorry," I groaned. I imagined Arthur as a little boy, chained to a radiator, starving, scared, awaiting his next beating. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hug him tight, but I worried I'd make things worse again. "Can I hold you?"

"Yeah." He pushed the blankets down enough to free his arm and slid it around my neck.

I drew him closer and held him, just not too tightly. "I'm sorry," I said again. I wasn't saying sorry for what I did, so much as what he'd been through that had made him suffer so much.

"It's okay. I'm okay."

We stayed that way for a long time, until Arthur suddenly pulled away and sat up. "Did you close the fridge? The whole apartment will be refrigerated."

"Um, no, I didn't." We got up and went to sort out the kitchen, putting the shelves back in the fridge, and checked the food items were salvageable. Then Arthur went to take a bath and I made us some breakfast.

Arthur didn't eat much, only half a slice of toast. "I forgot to take my pills," he said. "They're in my bag at your place."

"I'll get them." I was back in a couple of minutes with Arthur's bag and the clothes he'd taken off before we went to bed.

He took his pills and poured himself another cup of coffee. "I'm sorry I spoiled things." He rubbed a hand over his face.

"You didn't spoil anything. I did something without thinking that upset you. You didn't do anything wrong."

"We were going to go on a date today." He sighed heavily. "Rob, we shouldn't do this."

"What do you mean?" Anxiety clenched its fist in my guts.

"I mean, I don't want you to waste your time with me. Look at me. You can't even play around with me, without me freaking out and acting like a crazy person. I know why I did what I did, but to you, it must seem nuts, and scary. And you're right, I could have passed out and got stuck in there. Died, even. I never thought about that before."

"You got in the fridge before?"

"Yeah, a few times. When I needed to escape from my mother. From everything. You don't need this—me—in your life. Eventually, it'll get too much and you won't want me anymore. Then it'll be harder."

"Arthur, don't talk like that. You said something like this before, remember? And I told you how important you are to me. I'm not going anywhere. I love you. If you get upset and laugh, or get in the fridge, or headbutt the door, or whatever, it won't make a difference to how I feel. I will always want you, so I don't want to hear anymore 'you don't need me in your life.' I want you in my life, Arthur, and I won't hear any argument."

"You're stubborn," he said.

"Yes, I am." I pushed his plate towards him. "Eat your toast."

"I hate toast." Arthur pushed his plate back towards me. "You eat it."

I'd seen Arthur eat toast several times before, but I didn't say anything. He fetched one of the loaves of bread I'd rescued from the kitchen floor and pulled several slices out of the bag. I'd didn't surprise me at all when he began to eat them dry.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"What do you want to do for the rest of the day?" I glanced at my watch. It was still only eleven o'clock.

"You don't have to stay with me. I'll be fine." Arthur smiled sadly.

"We were going to spend the day together. We still can, but if you want to stay in and watch tapes of Murray Franklin, we can do that."

"You'd be bored. We could still go out."

"Do you want to?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. What if something else happens and I end up having one of my episodes and embarrassing you? I'd spoil everything."

"You don't embarrass me, Arthur. It's gonna happen now and again, I know that. I'll just be there for you. The hell with everybody else. Fuck 'em."

Suddenly, he laughed, with amusement rather than distress. "Fuck 'em. All right. Let's get out of the city like we planned."

An hour later, we were on the train heading north. We quickly left behind the depressing gloom of the city, and passed through progressively more attractive countryside—brown turned into green, more and more trees grew, and a glimpse of sea could be spotted now and again in the distance. Arthur stared out of the window with interest most of the time, pointing out things he saw.

"I've never been outside the city," he said. "It's like getting out of prison."

"I know." I grinned. "One day, I want to leave for good. I moved from that small town where I was born for work. There weren't many opportunities anywhere else. Maybe some day I can find something in the country."

Arthur's mouth turned down at the corners. "You'd really leave?"

"Only if you wanted to go with me." I glanced around the carriage. No one else was visible. I took his hand in mine and laced our fingers together.

He smiled again, but then looked serious. "I wish we could do this all the time. I hate that we could get insulted or beaten up for being in love. The city is shit."

"It's the world, not just Gotham. Maybe things will get better one day."

Another half hour passed, and the train pulled into the small town of White Rock on the coast. We climbed down to the platform and waited as it set off again, heading farther north towards Canada.

Ordinarily, the little seaside town would have been busy with tourists, but it was November, and although sunny, it wasn't warm enough for families to be visiting to go to the beach.

Arthur and I wandered around the streets, window-shopping and going into a few to look at souvenirs. Arthur had no trinkets of any kind in his apartment, but he was tempted to buy a model of a lighthouse. He counted out the money in coins and the shopkeeper wrapped the lighthouse in several layers of paper and put it in a bag.

"You like lighthouses?" I asked as we left the shop.

"I've only seen them on TV. There's something about them, standing there in all weathers, battered by the ocean, saving ships in the darkness."

"That's quite poetic." I glanced at Arthur and smiled. I wanted to hold his hand and kiss him so badly. Damn the world.

Arthur grinned. "I have a book about them, too."

"You want to see a real one? There's one here—look." I pointed through a gap between two buildings at the distant lighthouse, perched on a rocky outcrop, its bold black and white stripes standing out against the blue sky.

"Can we go in it?" Arthur's face lit up like someone had flicked a switch.

"Sure, if it's open. It's Sunday, so they might be open for tourists."

We made our way to the lighthouse, standing on rocky foundations, attached to the mainland by a narrow strip of boulders and a footbridge. The light wasn't on, of course, being daylight, but the door at the bottom was open. As we made our way onto the bridge, an old man appeared from the small building nearby.

"You want a tour?"

"Yes, please!" Arthur beamed. Then his face fell. "How much does it cost?"

I pulled out my wallet as the man answered, "Ten each."

I paid quickly, before Arthur could say anything else. I knew he didn't have much money. The coins he had in his pocket that he used to buy the model lighthouse, were probably all he had on him after he'd paid for his train ticket. I didn't have much either, but I could pay for the lighthouse tour and buy us some lunch after.

"Come on, then. I'll show you around. We don't get many visitors this time of year. I'm the lighthouse keeper. Name's Ronald."

"Good to meet you, Ronald. I'm Rob," I said. "This is Arthur. We're from Gotham City."

"Sorry to hear that." Ronald chuckled. "So, what do you think of White Rock so far?"

"It's very pretty," Arthur said. "I'd like to live somewhere like this one day."

"What do you do in the city?" Ronald asked as we walked across the bridge.

"I'm a party clown and I'm planning to be a stand-up comedian."

"Got any good jokes?"

"Um…"

I glanced at Arthur as he slowed to a stop, frowning thoughtfully.

"Um…" He looked up suddenly, grinning. "Here's one. How do lighthouse keepers communicate?"

"I don't know," Ronald said. "How do they communicate?"

"Shine language!"

"That's funny." The man guffawed. "You're a funny man, Arthur. You'll make a good comedian. Okay, here we are." He stepped through the door into the lighthouse and we followed.

A spiral staircase wound its way up above us. Perhaps twenty feet up, a ceiling indicated a room was above, but the staircase went on and on around the sides.

"It's steep," Ronald said. "Hold onto the railing on your way up. Go first, Rob. You next, Arthur."

We started to climb, Ronald following and explaining that the room we were passing was his kitchen and bathroom. The one above was his bedroom and little living room. Above that, lighthouse storage where he keep tools and equipment, spare bulbs and so on. Finally, we reached the area where the light was, enormous and protected by a giant cage surrounded by mirrors at different angles.

Ronald explained how the lighthouse worked, and pointed out landmarks from the windows. A few pictures hung on one wall—old black and white photos of various fishing vessels and ships that had been saved by White Rock Lighthouse.

Eventually, we made our way down the steps again, and followed Ronald back across the bridge. The building at the other end turned out to be a small shop with souvenirs, and I bought a couple of postcards depicting the lighthouse, so we at least had some pictures of it. I wished I had a camera I could have brought to capture memories of our day out.

"Are you hungry?" I asked Arthur, as we headed back into the town.

"A little."

"Do you like fish, or seafood?"

"Isn't fish seafood?"

I snorted. "Yes, but I mean shrimp, muscles, things like that."

"I don't know. I never had them."

I stopped outside a seafood wagon selling little pots of different types of seafood. "I'll get some of these and we can try different ones."

"Okay." Arthur looked warily at the items and spotted a tray of langoustine. "Those have legs. And _eyes_."

"Don't worry, I won't get the ones with eyes." I ordered pots of fresh shrimp, cockles, and crab. Then we sat on a bench overlooking the sea and ate the snacks. Arthur eyed the cockles as if they were something one might catch, like a disease, but he liked the shrimp and crab.

We bought ice creams to follow, and went down on to the beach to walk on the sand. Damp from the last tide, it was firm and easy to walk on, and we wandered a mile or so to the north, before turning to go back. We only passed two people on the way, and when we started back, not a soul was in sight. I took Arthur's hand in mine as we walked. He looked serious and sad, but he smiled again as soon as I touched him.

"You okay?"

He nodded. "This is the best day of my life. Well, second best. The best day was when I met you. I wish we could do this all the time."

"Me too. We'll do it again, though. And next time, I'll get a camera. I would have liked to take pictures of the lighthouse and the views from the top. Get a picture of us, too. I used to have one a few years ago. I don't know what happened to it." My ex-wife probably had it. I couldn't remember. I knew I'd looked for it when I was packing, and hadn't been able to find it.

When we reached the main part of the town again, I bought a bag of fresh, hot, sugary donuts. Arthur had never tried those either, but he ate three of the five as we walked back to the station. It occurred to me that these were the things most people did when they were kids—going to the seaside, walking on the beach, eating seafood, and ice creams, and donuts, and buying souvenirs. My parents had taken Rebecca and me to the beach every summer when we were kids. Arthur had never done any of this, and I loved seeing how much he enjoyed it.

The train lumbered back into the city, leaving behind the bright blue skies and sunshine. It almost seemed as if a permanent cloud hung over Gotham, which it probably did, although it was mostly pollution rather than rainclouds.

"God, this is so depressing," Arthur said, as we pulled into the station. "When you go to a place like White Rock and have to come back to this. I suppose it's worse for me because I've never known anything different. I've never seen anything like that beautiful little town before."

"I know what you mean." I gave his arm a quick squeeze as we began to plod up the endless flight of steps. "We'll just have to go for days out whenever we can. There are lots of little towns like White Rock that we can explore."

"It costs so much, though." Arthur sighed. "My train ticket used up almost all of spare money this month."

"Mine too. But things will change when I get my first pay packet from my new job."

"You can't pay for me to do things," he protested.

"Of course I can. We're together. I like doing things with you. If you earned more, you'd pay, right?"

"Of course!"

"So, don't worry about it. Let's just enjoy doing things and not worry about who's paying for it. Look at it this way. Arkham will pay for it."

Arthur sniggered. "The asylum paying for the freak to do stuff. I like it."

"Don't call yourself that."

"Why not? Everyone else does." He shrugged and punched the lift button. For once, the doors opened immediately.

"Are you going to have dinner with me?" I asked as we rode up in the slow, clanking lift.

"Yes, but I'm still stuffed with donuts."

"You ate more than me," I reminded him.

"I'm thinner than you. I need the fat and sugar." He grinned.

I heated up some soup for dinner, and made cheese sandwiches to go with it. I wasn't all that hungry either. As we ate, I thought about what had happened when we first woke up, and it seemed a long time ago. The day had been amazing—escaping the city for a few hours and seeing Arthur happy. He didn't look happy very often, and it made the day more special for me. I didn't care what we did if it made him smile.

Arthur insisted on washing the dishes when we had finished eating. As he placed the last one on the drainer, I moved in behind him and wrapped my arms around him, nuzzled his neck and kissed his ear. "I love you," I whispered.

He turned around in my arms and cupped my face with soapy hands. "I love you, too. Thank you for today. It was amazing. I'll always remember it."

"You say that like it's the only time we'll do something like that. I meant it when I said we'll do this again, lots of times. I liked getting out of this city, and I love seeing you smile, and laugh."

"You mean without it being my crazy laugh because I'm upset."

"I meant I like seeing you happy."

He nodded. "That doesn't happen often. I can't remember having one happy day in my life before I met you."

His statement made me sad. I knew it was true, but I hated that he'd been miserable for thirty-five years, and didn't have any happy memories of childhood, or school, or anything else, like I had and like most of the people I knew did.

I brushed my lips over his in a light kiss, and he immediately deepened it. He slid his wet hands around the back of my neck, and thrust his tongue into my mouth. I closed my eyes, instantly aroused as he took charge and seduced me with lips and tongue. He pressed himself harder against me, his erection obvious as it nudged mine. When he broke the kiss, breathless, I opened my eyes and met his.

"Do you want to go and lie down for a while?" I asked.

"Hell, yes." Grinning, he pushed me away from him, grabbed my hand, and began to tug me towards my bedroom. "Come on, hurry up, what are you waiting for?"

We tumbled onto the bed, and I made sure to roll onto my back so I didn't trap him beneath me again. I was surprised when he slid his arms around me and pulled me onto him, his legs apart so I rested between them.

"Are you okay like this?"

"Yeah. It's different, because I know what's going to happen. I was just startled before, and it brought back some memories. I'm okay." He slid his hand between us and unfastened my pants, then his own. I intended to get undressed, shed some layers so we could feel skin. But Arthur was in a hurry, and when he wrapped his hand around both my erection and his own, and rubbed them together, all thoughts of getting naked went out of my head. I took my weight on my elbows and knees, and rolled my hips, thrusting against him. We didn't even need lube, with both of us leaking the way we were.

Arthur grunted and groaned, bucking beneath me, his hand moving erratically. He came hard within minutes, and I quickly followed, then collapsed in a hot messy heap on top of him. He pulled his hand free and slid his arm around me.

"You okay?" I asked again, aware that I was pinning him to the bed.

"Yeah." He took a breath, then blew it out slowly. "Do you want to fuck me?"

"Now?" I lifted my head to look at him.

"No. Soon."

"Yes, I want to. Do you want me to?"

"Does it hurt?"

"Not much, if I'm careful and take my time getting you ready."

He thought for a moment, his cheeks flushing. "Oh. Yeah. Okay. We can do it, then. Soon."

I slid off him and tugged him onto his side in my arms. He nestled against me, his hot face in my neck. We were still fully dressed, sweaty, messy, and I didn't care. I didn't want to move and let him go.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Arthur went back to his own apartment that night. I had to get up early for my first day in my new job, and he would be going to his appointment with Tom, then going to work, too.

My first hour at work consisted of filling in forms, learning my duties for the first week, and being introduced to other members of staff. Some of what I'd be doing wasn't strictly nursing, but spending time with patients who didn't have anyone else.

The first actual job I did, was helping treat a patient who had torn his pyjama pants into little strips to make a rope, and tried to hang himself with it. After that, I was introduced to a woman who had PDB and depression, my manager having remembered I'd mentioned a "friend" with the same problems. This woman, Catherine, was also schizophrenic, and would jump from one personality to another in the middle of a conversation. When she got upset, she laughed very much like Arthur did, to the point of choking and gasping for breath. I spent a couple of hours with her, then took my lunch break.

As I travelled home on the train later, I thought about what I'd left behind at the hospital, and I did miss it, but at the same time, I knew I would find the new job rewarding, and the day shifts and extra money would be a Godsend.

I had a quick freshen up and changed clothes, then began to prepare dinner. I had arranged with Arthur for him to come to my apartment at seven so we could eat together. At seven fifteen, I knocked on his door to find out where he was, but there was silence within. He'd had a booking at five o'clock at the children's hospital, and I simply assumed he hadn't got back yet. Until I returned to my apartment and noticed the blinking red light on my answer machine. I listened to the message, which was from Tom, asking me to give him a call and let him know why Arthur had missed his appointment that morning.

"Shit." I grabbed my copy of Arthur's key and went back to his door. I knocked again first. "Arthur! Are you in there? Arthur!"

There was no answer, and no sound at all. I tried my key in the lock, but it wouldn't turn, indicating his key was in the other side. I tried the handle anyway, but the door was locked. After a few more attempts to get him to answer me, I went to my own apartment again and tried calling his telephone, but eventually the answering machine kicked in. I left a message, then went back to his door.

"Arthur, can you let me in?" I called. "I need to know you're okay."

Finally, a slight sound reached me. A moment later, the key turned in the lock and he opened the door, leaving the chain on. I caught sight of him through the gap, wearing the same clothes he'd had on yesterday, his face drawn and miserable.

"What's wrong, Arthur?"

"Nothing. I'm tired, that's all. You woke me up."

"Tom called. He said you missed your appointment."

"I was asleep."

"You didn't go to work?"

"I didn't feel like it." He started to close the door.

"Please, Arthur, let me in. I'm worried about you."

He paused, with the door open a couple of inches. He let out a long sigh, then pushed the door closed. I feared he may lock me out, but after a minute or so, he took the chain off and opened it.

"You don't have to worry about me, Rob. I'm not going to do anything. I just get like this sometimes, that's all. My meds are okay, but they don't make everything go away."

"What do you want to go away?"

"I just feel bad." He turned away and walked into the living room, leaving me to follow. I closed the door behind me and by the time I reached him, he was curled up on the sofa with a blanket over him.

"Want to tell me about it?" I sat on the floor beside him. His hands were tucked inside the blanket, so I rested my hand on his arm instead. He looked the very picture of misery.

"There's nothing to tell. I feel bad all the time. Well, most of the time. It doesn't go away, it just has different levels of badness."

"Aren't the new anti-depressants helping?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "They're better than what I was taking before. I feel especially bad today because yesterday was so good."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help."

"You do help. It helps knowing somebody cares whether I'm alive or dead. I'm sorry I'm lousy company." He closed his eyes. "I just want to sleep."

"You want me to stay or go?"

"Go. See you tomorrow." He pulled the blanket up over his face.

I felt awful. I didn't want to leave him, but I couldn't do anything to make it better. Depression was a bastard and if all he wanted to do right now was sleep, I wouldn't achieve anything by talking to him. Instead, I found a notepad and wrote him a note, telling him if he needed anything, to call me or knock on my door. Then I pressed a kiss into his hair and left.

I didn't feel like eating the dinner I'd put in the oven, but I had some of it anyway. I called Tom to tell him Arthur had a bad day and spent most of it sleeping. Then I watched television and hoped the phone would ring. It didn't and eventually, I went to bed.

I tossed and turned, unable to sleep properly, and didn't feel like going to work when I got up. But I couldn't be absent on my second day and as much as I wanted to stay home until it was a reasonable enough hour to knock on Arthur's door and check on him, I left the building and got on the train. I'd known him long enough to realise his bad days were usually just that—days—and he'd probably be better again by now, but it didn't stop me worrying just in case.

My day at work was long, but at least it was interesting. I administered meds to many of the patients, treated one who had bed sores, and began training two younger nurses who had started work a month ago, but had their mentoring interrupted by my predecessor leaving. By the end of the day, I was desperate to get home and see Arthur, but I didn't have to wait that long.

I left the building and as I ran down the steps, I found Arthur leaning against the wall, the hood of his tan jacket pulled up over his head and his hands in the pockets. He still looked miserable, but at least he was out. I went to give him a hug, and he pulled his hands out of his pockets to return it. I held him tighter.

"You okay?"

"Yes." He drew away and shoved his hands back into his pockets. We began walking in the direction of the station.

"Did you go to work?" I asked.

"Yes. Hoyt said he'll fire me if I fail to show anymore. I'm costing him money. He says he likes me and most of the time I do a good job, but my work colleagues think I'm a freak." He shrugged. "That's nothing new. But I love the job. I called Tom and made another appointment. I'm going to ask him if I can increase the dose of my meds now I'm used to them. If I lose this job, I'm fucked. I'll lose my apartment, too." He started to laugh, then halted, turned towards the wall of a nearby building and pressed himself against it. I feared he might smash his head against it, but he only stood there laughing and choking.

"Arthur." I rested my hand on his back and rubbed in circles.

"Sorry. Just leave me." He clamped his hands over his mouth in an effort to suppress his laughter.

"I'm not leaving you. What did I say on Sunday before we went to White Rock? If this happens and anyone looks, fuck 'em. You're okay, and I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Arthur took a breath, and eventually his laughter tailed off, leaving him sagging against the wall, exhausted and sad. "Fuck 'em?" he said. "You say that, but I don't think you've thought about what you're letting yourself in for. I'm always going to be like this, Rob. I have a condition. It can't be fixed."

"I know that." I tugged him away from the wall and made him look at me. "It hasn't made any difference to how I feel about you, and it won't in the future. I love you. I fell in love with you knowing all this about you. Let's go home, okay?"

"Okay." He put his hands back in his pockets and began to walk beside me, his feet dragging. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Stop being sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for. We know this will happen if something upsets you. I accept that."

Arthur abruptly changed the subject. "I never asked you about your new job. I'm sorry. Do you like it?"

I talked to him about it as we got on the train and found some seats. I told him I had a patient who was a little like him, and his eyes widened.

"Really? It's not just me?"

"She had a head injury a few years ago. She has PBD and depression, amongst other things."

"Did you tell her about me?"

"I told her my best friend is very like her. It helped her, I think."

"Am I your best friend?"

"Yes, but you're much more than that, Arthur."

"Fucking queers," a man muttered behind us.

Arthur's back stiffened. I nudged his knee with mine, a subtle form of comfort. "I like the job," I continued. "I have to train two new recruits as part of my role." I told him a little more about it, then asked him what he'd done that day.

"I went to a children's party at someone's house. The little boy is sick and they invited his friends around. I sang 'If You're Happy and You Know It,' and got them to join in with all the actions."

"Fucking child-molesters as well as ass-fuckers," the man behind growled.

Arthur clenched his fists and his knees bounced. I covered one of his hands with mine and turned around to meet the scowling gaze of a man probably a few years younger than us, dressed in a suit and tie.

"What do you do for a living?" I asked pleasantly.

"I'm a music teacher. What the fuck does it have to do with you?"

"So, I assume that given the nature of your insults towards me and my friend, you are heterosexual. I do hope that when you're teaching young girls, a chaperone is present, as according to you, anyone working with children has to be a peodophile. I should think the parents of your students would be concerned about them picking up bad language, too, if they could hear you now."

The man muttered and swore under his breath, while several other passengers nearby chuckled. One even clapped. An older lady across the aisle leaned towards Arthur. "Ignore him, dear. Some people can't help ramming their unwanted opinions down everyone's throats."

The man got off at the next stop, and one person shouted out, "Good riddance, asshole!" Someone else snorted. It was a pleasant surprise to have some support on such an issue. I didn't care about myself, but Arthur didn't need to be on the receiving end of homophobic insults, when he had enough difficulties with people calling him a freak when he got upset about something and laughed.

"Are you okay?" I whispered. I still had my hand resting over his clenched fist.

He gave a brief nod, but kept his head down, his face mostly hidden by his hood. Fifteen minutes later, we got off the train, called in at the pharmacy so Arthur could get his prescription, then made our way up the steps. When we eventually got in the lift to travel up to our floor, Sophie and her little girl joined us. The lift rattled and clanked its way upwards, even jolting to a brief halt about halfway.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "This building is so awful, isn't it?"

I smiled. "I think it needs pulling down."

"Are you okay, Arthur?" she asked. He leaned in the corner, hands in his pockets, head down still hiding in his hood.

Silently, he lifted one hand, put two fingers to the side of his head to imitate a gun, and pretended to fire it. Sophie's eyes widened. The lift door squeaked open and Arthur walked out quickly.

"Bad day," I said.

"I'm sorry. Will he, um, will he be all right?"

"I'll make sure of it." I followed Arthur, who had walked down the corridor to my door, rather than his own. At least he didn't want to keep away from me any longer. "I should give you a key," I said as I reached him. "I have yours."

"I'd never leave if I had a key to your place." He flashed me a brief smile and walked inside ahead of me.

"I'm sorry about what happened on the train."

"It's not your fault. Most people hate men like us. Especially me. I'm a freak as well as queer." He shrugged his jacket off and hung it on one of the pegs on the wall.

"Don't say that. Not everyone is the same. Most of the people near us thought that guy was an asshole. So, your party went well?"

"Yes, I think I redeemed myself. Until next time. I need to find something else to do, where I'm not on anyone's clock. Just in case he fires me some day." He didn't mention his stand-up routine, and I supposed it would be the last thing on his mind when his confidence had taken a knock, and his depression was giving him a beating. I didn't bring it up, and instead focussed on getting him to eat some of the lamb chops I cooked, and trying to put a smile on his face. I managed it once or twice, but the smile was forced, as if he were trying to please me by doing it, when he didn't feel it at all.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

It took the rest of the week for Arthur to feel any better. He couldn't shake off the cloud that hung over him. He went to work, he had two appointments with Tom, who increased his medication, and he had dinner with me every night, but he barely spoke, and he didn't want to so much as kiss me.

My days off were Thursday and Friday, so I couldn't spend any of the weekend with Arthur, but he worked on both Saturday and Sunday afternoons anyway. When I got home from work on Sunday, I called at his apartment to let him know I was back and found him in the middle of making dinner. He looked a little better and smiled at me.

"Do you need to freshen up? I'm making a pie."

"Pie?" My eyes widened. "You don't like things mixed together."

"I thought this looked nice. It was on a cooking show on the TV. It's just meat and potato. I used lamb. That bastard butcher still wouldn't give me a discount."

I grinned. "That sounds good. The pie, not the lack of discount. I'll be ten minutes, okay?" I leaned in to give him a quick kiss. He slid his hands up to my neck to hold me in place and deepened it. When he finally pulled away, I was breathless.

"Things aren't so bad today," he said. "I'm sorry this week has been so shit. You must be getting sick of me."

"That's not going to happen. I just don't like to see you so miserable."

"Well, I'm not today."

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

Arthur's pie was delicious. The lamb was cooked perfectly, cut in large chunks and mixed in with pieces of potato under a thick pie crust. There was even gravy inside it, and carrots on the side. Admittedly, Arthur cut his up and ate bites of each item separately, but he still ate it, and a decent-sized portion, too.

"What are your days off this week?" he asked me, as we sat down to watch TV.

"Wednesday and Friday."

"I'm off on Wednesday, too. I didn't even get a day off this week. I worked my day off to make up for not going on Monday. Hoyt is okay with me again."

"What about your other co-workers?"

Arthur shrugged. "Gary is all right. Mostly, he's nice to me. Randall hates me. He pretends to be my friend, but I can see it in his eyes. He wishes Hoyt had fired me. The others generally keep their distance. They think I'm crazy."

"It's a shame they don't take the time to get to know you properly and see what an amazing person you are."

Arthur chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far. Are you sure the pie hasn't coloured your judgement?"

"Well, it might have," I teased. "You can always bribe me into doing things with good food."

Arthur stared at me, his forehead wrinkling. "Is that a joke? You're joking, right?"

"Yes, I'm joking. I'm sorry."

He laughed, not a natural one, but not a hysterical one either. Just a laugh that sounded as if he was doing it because he knew something was supposed to be funny, but he didn't get it. It was clear he wasn't quite himself yet, or at least not quite the person I was used to. I changed the subject.

"What do you want to do on Wednesday?"

"I don't know. I don't get paid until Friday. I haven't any money left."

"I haven't got much, until I get my last wage from my old job. In fact, I get my first wage from the new job on the same day, so then we can really spoil ourselves. But this week we can do something that doesn't cost anything. We could go to the park, if you want to. It's not out of the city, but it's better than this area. We can go on the bus."

"I've never been to the park," Arthur said. "I never had any reason to. What's there?"

"Trees. A pond with a fountain. People playing football and walking dogs. Maybe not so much on Wednesday, because a lot of people will be at work or school, but it's nice. There's a coffee shop and a stand selling ice cream."

Arthur smiled. "Let's go."

On Monday, I slipped out of Arkham during my half-hour break, and purchased a camera from a nearby store. I found a reasonably-priced one that was similar to the one I'd lost, but it used up almost all of the last of my money. I had just enough for coffee and ice cream, and would have to make do with the groceries I had in my apartment until Friday. But I'd wished I had a camera when we went to White Rock, and I didn't want to miss another opportunity to start making an album of memories.

Tuesday night, Arthur made another pie, this one with chicken and potatoes, and with peas to go with it. After we ate, we snuggled up on the sofa, me lying with my back to the cushions, and him in front of me, his back to my chest. Nothing had happened between us since the day we went to White Rock, other than kissing. Arthur got aroused when we kissed on several occasions, but he avoided things going any further. I'd started to wonder if he changed his mind about wanting to have sex and was making sure things didn't get out of hand by touching. Even after his mood improved, he didn't want to do anything. But now, something was different.

He lay relaxed in my arms, holding my hand pressed against his stomach, which no longer felt concave. He'd put on a few pounds, and he looked so much better for it. His gaunt, pale face had filled out a little, and his ribs and spine weren't so prominent. Just lying there holding him started to turn me on.

I kissed his ear, then his neck. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He wiggled his ass and rubbed it against my groin. "What's turning you on? The stupid soap opera, or me?"

"It's definitely not the stupid soap opera."

"It seems like a long time since we did anything. I'm sorry. I haven't felt like it."

"I know that, and it's okay. It's not a requirement to being with me. If you don't feel like it, it doesn't matter. So long as I'm with you, that's what's important."

"Well, I feel like it now." He pushed my hand lower until it cupped the bulge in his pants. "I haven't even touched myself for over a week."

"We need to do something about that." I kissed his jaw. "I love you, Arthur."

"I love you, too. Now make me come, please. Before I explode."

Grinning, I unfastened his pants. His erection strained against his underwear, the fabric damp around the head. I tugged it free and made a fist around it. Arthur groaned, but then pushed my hand off. "Wait a minute."

He sat up and began to unfasten the cardigan he was wearing, then his shirt, and shrugged off both items. His socks followed. "Come on, Rob, don't let me be the only naked one here."

I took my clothes off, only hesitating when I got to my underwear, until he took his off. He was completely naked and apparently not self-conscious about it. He lay down again with his back to me and squirmed impatiently until I curled my hand around his dick.

"Can we have sex?" He bucked his hips, thrusting himself into my fist and rubbing his ass against my aching erection.

"Not tonight. I haven't got condoms and lube with me."

"Damn." He giggled suddenly. "What do you want condoms for? I'm not going to get pregnant."

I laughed softly. "Cleanliness."

"Okay."

"We can do this." I took my hand off him again, slid my hand between his legs, and guided the upper one to lift a little to make a gap. I pushed my dick into it, so it pressed against his perineum. "Put your leg down a bit." I groaned as he trapped me between his thighs. "That feels good."

Gradually, we began to move together. I stroked Arthur's erection, and thrust my hips gently against him. Leaking fluid from my dick eased the way between his thighs, and he rubbed his thumb over the head. He writhed and bucked, his whole body quivering. We found a rhythm together that worked and felt incredible. He came hard within minutes, coating my hand and spurting off the edge of the sofa onto the floor. I was only seconds behind, my fluid slicking the insides of his thighs.

I lay still, panting for breath, my arm draped around his waist. "That was so good," I whispered.

"I missed this. I've been thinking about it. I just didn't—"

"I know. It's okay."

"We're really messy." Arthur laughed, and picked up his discarded cotton underwear. He wiped my fingers, then his groin and between his legs. I took the garment from him and cleaned myself up. He turned over in my arms and met my eyes. "Is this enough for you? I mean, I know we're going to fuck, but aren't you fed up of waiting?"

"Arthur, don't even think that. It's not all about sex. I love you. I love being with you. Yes, I want more, but at the same time, if it doesn't happen, it doesn't matter. Not all couples actually have penetrative sex."

"Don't they?"

"No. A lot of guys who are together prefer to touch, and suck, and rub against each other. Stuff like that. So don't think we need to rush it because what we're doing isn't enough, or if you don't like it, it'll be a problem for me. It won't. I love doing just this."

"I didn't mean I don't want to do it, or I'm not ready. I just worried you might get bored with me. Have you had other boyfriends you had sex with?"

"I haven't really had a boyfriend before. I fooled around with a couple of guys before I was married. We didn't even do as much as you and I just did. I told myself it was a phase and that it would go away. Deep down, I knew that wouldn't happen, but I thought I could be with a woman and be happy. I was fooling myself. I longed to be with a man, and I ended up being unfaithful. I mentioned that to you. It happened three times in ten years. Two of them, I had sex with, but I didn't see them again after. So, I really haven't done much."

"I'm your first boyfriend, then." Arthur grinned. "I like that."

"Me too." I brought our lips together and caressed his in a slow, sensual kiss. He closed his eyes and pressed himself against me, his soften penis quickly hardening again, as did mine. I drew back and met his eyes. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"Yeah."

We spent another hour, kissing, touching, pleasuring each other. I spent the night with him and when I woke, he was already up making coffee for me.

"What time is it?" I yawned and took the mug from him. It was still dark, and he'd put the bedroom light on.

"I don't know. Six thirty? Our day together will be longer if we start early."

"Good point."

"I haven't got much for breakfast. Sorry. It's toast, or toast."

"You don't like toast."

"I do sometimes."

"Would you rather have bacon and eggs? I have some."

Arthur nodded. I finished my coffee and got dressed, then went back to my apartment to take a bath and get ready. Arthur did the same, then came to join me for breakfast. We waited until after the rush hour of people travelling to work before catching the bus.

As usual, a constant greyness hung over the city, but when we walked into the park, although it didn't lift, the green of the grass and trees made things seem better. The fountain shot jets of water ten feet into the air, scattering droplets across the surface of the water. I took photos of it with my new camera, then several of some colourful flower borders.

"Can I take your picture?" I asked Arthur.

"Oh, I don't know. Why do you want a picture of me? I'm not pretty." He grinned shyly and flushed.

"I love you, Arthur, I want to be able to look at you when you're not with me."

He thought for a moment. "All right. So long as I can take one of you that I can keep."

"Sure."

I took several pictures of Arthur, standing by the pond with the fountain in the background, and sitting on a bench with bright yellow flowers behind him. Then I showed him how the camera worked, and he took a few snaps of me. As he handed me the camera back, two men walked by and glanced at us. They spoke quietly to each other for a second, then stopped.

"Morning," one said.

"Good morning," I answered.

"We wondered if you'd, um, like us to take your picture. Together."

I smiled. Apparently, they were a gay couple. "That'd be great. Thank you. I'm Rob. This is Arthur."

"Steven." He offered his hand for me to shake. "This is my partner, Andy."

We all shook hands. Then Steven took a couple of pictures of Arthur and me sitting on the bench, my arm around Arthur's shoulders. The pair then joined us in the coffee shop for a round of cappuccinos. Arthur didn't talk much, but I asked the pair about their jobs and life. They lived together on the outskirts of the city. Steven worked in a bank, and Andy in a department store. When they left us, we agreed to keep in touch, and Steven and I swapped telephone numbers.

On the way home, I called in at a photographic store and left the camera film for developing, since we'd managed to use all the shots. Arthur didn't talk much on the journey. He didn't seem unhappy, only pensive. I invited him back to my apartment for dinner, and while I cooked, he sat on the bar stool and watched.

"I'm going to give it another go at Pogo's," he said. "I need to see if I can do it, or if it's just a dream that will never come true."

The words, "Are you sure?" almost popped out of my mouth before I bit my tongue. I didn't want to be discouraging, even though I worried things would go wrong for him again. Instead, I grinned at him. "Whenever you decide to do it, I'll be there," I promised.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"I'm going to do it on Friday," Arthur said, as he sat on the bar stool watching me make dinner on Thursday night.

"Do what?"

"My stand-up routine at Pogo's."

"Friday as in tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Before I have time to worry about it too much. I'll call them as soon as they open and arrange a slot. Will you come?"

"Of course I will." I lowered the heat on the stove and left the pan of potatoes to simmer so I could go to him. He grabbed my hands.

"Will you wait at the side of the stage?"

"Sure, if you want me to. If they let me."

"They should do. It's not as if it's a big professional club with famous people performing. They won't be worried you're waiting there to assassinate me."

I grinned. "I might be waiting there to kidnap you and smuggle you back to my bed, though."

"I hope so."

"I switched my day off from Friday to Saturday to help out one of my colleagues who needed Friday. We'll have plenty of time for kidnapping on Saturday. Unless you're working."

"I have a party at four. Nothing before then."

"Good, I'll kidnap you after the show until Saturday afternoon." I gave him a kiss and turned back to the stove, a knot of anxiety forming in my guts. I would never let Arthur know I felt like that because it would hurt his confidence, but I was terrified he'd lose his nerve and get upset again.

After dinner, Arthur went back to his apartment to practise. I got an early night, but I was restless, thinking about him performing the next evening. The memory of last time was clear in my head—his panic and hysteria, then the ensuing embarrassment and feeling of failure. I almost hoped Tom would talk him out of it at their appointment on Friday morning.

"I didn't tell Tom," he said, as he poked a piece of chicken around his plate. He'd been shopping for groceries after he finished work on Friday and made dinner ready for when I got home. "I thought he might try to talk me out of it."

"He may have done," I agreed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I might shit my pants." Arthur laughed nervously. "I'm on stage at nine. They didn't have an earlier slot, which is probably a good thing, or we'd be rushing. There will be a bigger audience, too." He laughed again, a little screechy. "They'll hate me, won't they?"

"They won't hate you, Arthur. You're very funny. Just try to stay calm and remember your routine. And don't tell that joke about the cops knocking on the door to tell the woman her son's been killed."

Arthur sniggered. "I still think that's funny."

"I know, but trust me, it's not right for the stage. Everything else you do is brilliant."

"Okay. I won't do that one. I'm going to get ready." He took his half-eaten dinner into the kitchen and put the plate in the fridge.

I watched TV while he got ready, and eventually emerged wearing a red suit, mustard-coloured waistcoat, and the nice green shirt. A shiny pair of brogues completed his outfit.

"What do you think? Is it too much?" He grinned shyly and smoothed his hair back.

"You look amazing."

"Really?" He performed a few dance moves and finished by spinning around.

I got up and slid my arms around him. "Really. I'm definitely going to be kidnapping you later." I ran my hand up and down his back. "Is this new?"

"No, I've had it a while. The shoes are new. I got paid today."

"Very nice." I gave him a kiss. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess."

"You'll be fine. Remember to breathe. If you get scared, pretend you're right here, performing for just me."

Arthur nodded. "Let's go."

We took the train into the city, Arthur clutching his journal against his chest as if it would protect him. His knees bounced as we sat on the train, and he fidgeted and breathed fast, but he didn't laugh. His obvious signs of nervousness were mirrored in me, but I kept them to myself, not wanting to make things worse for him.

When we reached Pogo's and entered via the yard at the back, we were met by the security guard who had spoken to me the last time, when I explained Arthur was sick.

"One of you performing?" he asked.

"Me. I'm Arthur Fleck," Arthur said.

The guy consulted a folded sheet of paper he had in his pocket and nodded. "What about you?" he asked me.

"I'm not performing. Can I watch Arthur from the side of the stage?"

"If you must." He nodded and directed us down a corridor. "Wait there until it's time." He went up the stairs that led to the stage.

Arthur opened his journal and began to scan through the pages, reading his notes, and pacing up and down. Two other men arrived and stood at the bottom of the stairs, apparently other performers waiting to go on.

Clapping from above could be heard, then another young man ran down the stairs and left the club. One of the two waiting made his way up to the stage. Arthur leaned against the wall in a corner and wrapped his arms around himself. I went to him and stood close, but not so close that the other person nearby would think anything about us.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

"Well, I'm not laughing. So long as they laugh, it's all good." He smiled, lips trembling.

"You'll be fine. You can do this."

"I wish I had your confidence."

We both turned to look up towards the stage entrance, as the sound of boos from the audience drifted down to us.

"Shit," Arthur muttered. "That'll be me soon. They won't like me."

"They'll love you. Don't listen to that. It's not you up there. When you go on, just run through your routine the way you do with me."

"I know." He nodded. "I know."

A few minutes crawled by, and the last performer came down the stairs, head down, as booing and jeering followed him. He walked straight out of the door and disappeared. The other one waiting climbed the stairs to the stage.

Arthur glanced at his watch and wrung his hands. "I'm next. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." He began to pace up and down the corridor, repeatedly dragging one hand through his hair, and fiercely clutching his journal in the other. When the outer door opened and another older guy came in, Arthur halted by the stairs and shuffled his feet, his body quivering all over. I expected him to burst into laughter at any moment, and I prayed he could hold it together.

At last, it was time. The previous comedian left the stage to a round of applause. Arthur took a deep breath and climbed the stairs to the stage door. I followed, and the security guy showed me where I could stand so I could see Arthur, but the audience wouldn't be able to see me. Arthur walked out onto the stage and was met by the compere.

"Please welcome our next newcomer, Arthur Fleck!"

Two or three people clapped as Arthur took his place on the stage behind the microphone. "Good evening. It's a pleasure to be here," he said. He paused and glanced around. I couldn't see the audience, but there was silence in the room. "I, um, I—" Arthur laughed. Fear overtook him, and all that could be heard in the room was his loud and hysterical laughter.

"Shit," I muttered. "Come on, Arthur. Breathe."

Panicked, he turned to look at me, still laughing, holding his journal in front of his mouth as his laughter became interspersed with choking gasps.

"Take a breath," I said, loud enough for him to hear, but not so loud anyone watching him could hear me. "You can do this. Don't look at the whole room. Find one face out there to look at and pretend it's me."

"Come on, get on with it!" someone called out. A second someone jeered.

I watched, my heart ready to leap into my throat and choke me, as Arthur took a deep breath and turned back to the microphone, his laughter subsiding. "I, um, I'm sorry about that. I'm very nervous. It's my first time," he said. "It reminds me of a time when I was in court. I was so nervous I could hardly speak. The lawyer asked me if I'd ever been married. I said 'Yes, sir. Once.' He asked me, "Who did you marry?' I answered, still nervous, 'Well, I married a woman.' The lawyer was getting angry by then. He demanded, 'Of course you married a woman. Did you ever hear of anyone marrying a man?' I thought for a second and I said, 'My sister did.'"

My mouth fell open as Arthur cleverly turned his panic into his first joke. I'd never even heard this joke before and wondered if he'd made it up there and then. The audience responded with a few chuckles and one or two guffaws. I heaved a sigh of relief and smiled.

Encouraged by the few laughs, Arthur continued with his routine, winding his jokes into little stories to make them sound like things that had happened to him. He didn't even glance at his journal but clutched it in one hand by his side. His act lasted fifteen minutes and by the end of it, at least half of the people in the room were laughing, and most clapped.

"Thank you very much. Good night." He left the stage and bounded down the steps ahead of me. I followed quickly. The older guy headed up to take his place, leaving the corridor empty. Arthur launched himself into my arms. "I did it." He beamed from ear to ear, eyes sparkling. "They liked me."

"You were amazing. That first joke was brilliant, when you used your nervousness in the story. Where did that come from?"

"I don't know. I just started talking and that came out. It was like when we went to see the lighthouse in White Rock. I didn't have any lighthouse jokes. I was put on the spot and I made one up."

"You're incredible." I hugged him tight. "You'll make a great comedian."

"You think so?"

"They all clapped, didn't they? And they were laughing all the way through your routine. You did it, Arthur. I'm so proud of you."

"I feel so good. I want to dance." He pulled free of my arms and whirled around in the small space.

I grabbed him by the wrists and held them together in front of him, loose enough for him to get away if he wanted. "I seem to remember promising to kidnap you. I think I should arrest you and march you off to a place we can dance, then take my prisoner home to bed. What do you think?"

"I'm not supposed to be happy about being kidnapped, but I'll make an exception. Where will we dance?"

"You remember me telling you about a club where men can dance together?" I let go of him and opened the door. "We'll go there. We can dance, even kiss, and no one will care because everyone's the same."

"Let's go."

I waved at a passing cab as we stepped out onto the pavement. The club was over on the other side of the city and it would take too long to walk there. The car pulled over and we climbed in. The smile didn't leave Arthur's face for the entire journey. When we reached the club, I paid the driver, then paid the cover charge for us to get into the venue with its flashing neon sign. Inside, music played loudly and a dozen or more male couples danced together. Others sat at tables, chatting, or cuddling. Arthur gazed about him in amazement.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, indicating the bar.

"Yes, please."

"What do you want?"

"I don't think I can have alcohol with my meds. I'm not sure."

"It's okay. We'll have soft drinks. Coke or lemonade?"

"Lemonade, please."

"Come with me." I took Arthur's hand in mine. He paused, gaze darting about. "It's okay. No one's looking, and if they are, we're just the same as them."

"Yeah." He smiled again and squeezed my hand.

I ordered two lemonades at the bar, and we wandered around looking for a place to sit. Suddenly, a familiar face caught my eye, and Steven waved at us. "Hey, Rob! Arthur! Do you want to sit with us?"

"It's those guys from the park." Arthur smiled and pulled his hand free of mine to shake theirs as they both stood up. "Hello, Andy. Steven."

We all sat around the table and chatted, watching the dancers. Arthur sipped his drink and fidgeted, knees bouncing, fiddling with his journal.

"What's in the book?" Steven asked.

"It's my journal. I write jokes in it. I performed at Pogo's tonight." Arthur grinned. "Everyone clapped. Well, most of them did. I was so nervous, I thought I'd shit myself."

Steven and Andy laughed. "That's brilliant, that you did that," Steven said. "I'd never have the guts to do anything on stage. Let us know next time you're going to be on, and we'll come and watch."

Arthur nodded and continued to fidget. I leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "What's wrong? You're not comfortable?"

"I just want to dance," he said. "I've never danced in public, though."

"You're a really good dancer. You'll be fine," I told him. "Want to give it a go?"

"Okay." Arthur placed his journal on the table and glanced at Steven. "Can I leave this here? You won't read it, will you?"

"Scouts' honour." Steven smiled and gave him a quick salute.

We made our way onto the dancefloor, Arthur still glancing around him at the couples swaying together, his teeth biting into his lower lip.

"Relax. It'll be fun. Just like at home." I drew him closer, my arm around his waist, my other hand holding his.

He slid his hand up to my shoulder. "People are looking."

"They're probably thinking how smart you look in your suit, and how lucky I am to be dancing with you."

"No, they're not thinking that. They'll be wondering who is the freak in the red suit, dancing with the gorgeous blond guy they all want to be with."

"You're not a freak, Arthur. You're amazing, and I love you." I let go of his hand and put my other arm around him instead, pulling him tight against me. He slid both arms around my neck and we shuffled slowly to the music.

"I love you," he whispered. "I'm the lucky one. You make everything in my life better. Even the shit days. Even when I feel so low I don't want to get out of bed, it's not so bad because I have you."

"You'll always have me." I kissed his ear. "I'm yours, always."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

We stayed on the dance floor for a few numbers, then went to join Steven and Andy at the table and finished our lemonades. Arthur told them a few of his jokes and got them laughing, and they told us something about their lives. Both of them had estranged families who wouldn't support them being together. They'd started dating secretly in school, and years later when they got jobs and were able to support themselves, they told their parents and siblings and were met with condemnation.

"What about you?" Andy asked us.

"My parents talk to me, but only if they can't avoid it," I said. "They don't live in the city. My sister died five years ago, and I haven't seen them since then."

"I don't have any family," Arthur said. "My mother died a few weeks ago. I never talked about it with her."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Steven said.

"What, that she died?" Arthur shrugged. "I'm better off without her. She lied to me my whole life, about who I was and where I came from. It's her fault I'm the way I am."

Steven and Andy glanced at each other. "What do you mean, Arthur?" Andy asked.

"I have a mental illness. Well, more than one. It's not obvious at the moment."

"A lot of people do," Steven said. "We just hide it well."

Andy took his hand and squeezed it. Arthur smiled. We carried on chatting. I sensed the couple were going to be become our friends.

Arthur and I danced again later and left the club just before midnight. I paid for a cab to take us home. I didn't want to travel on the train and trudge up those endless steps, imagining it would spoil the mood. Besides, I'd received two wages that day and was able to splash out a little.

When we got out of the lift on our floor, I took Arthur's hand and led him to my door. I made some coffee and he took off his suit jacket and laid it carefully over the arm of the sofa.

"You okay?" I sat down beside him and sipped my coffee. He'd barely spoken since we got in the cab to come home.

"Yes. Just thinking about things. Today was a really good day."

"It's not over yet."

"I know." He glanced at me over the top of his coffee mug. "Are you still going to kidnap me and hold me hostage in your bed?"

I grinned. "I was thinking about it."

He nodded, his eyes serious. "What if I can't do it?"

"Don't worry about that. We're only going to do what you want to do, and what you're comfortable with."

"I want to, I just—" He lowered his head and shrugged.

"Nervous?"

"Yes."

"Don't be. I won't hurt you. I love you, Arthur. Don't feel you have to do anything just to please me."

He nodded again, put his coffee mug on the table, and got up. "I'm going to freshen up." He disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door.

I left him alone and finished my coffee. He stayed in there for fifteen minutes, but when he emerged, he was wearing only his suit trousers. He smiled shyly and went into my bedroom. I followed and took off my jacket and shirt. Arthur hovered, watching, then moved closer and ran his hands over my smooth chest.

"You look so good. Feel so good. I wish my body was nicer."

"There's nothing wrong with your body."

"I'm still too thin, and not very firm." He touched his soft pecs with one hand.

"I love you the way you are, but you can change things if you want to. You're filling out anyway, now you're eating better. A little bit of exercise will help, if that's what you want."

"Okay." He nodded and stepped away from me. He unfastened his trousers and took them off. Underneath, he was wearing another pair of new underwear I hadn't seen before—red with a white waistband. He took them off too, and I noticed he'd trimmed his pubic hair. Previously, it had been bushy and natural, but he'd clipped it short and neat. He turned away from me and slid into the bed.

I finished undressing and joined him. Arthur had switched on the bedside lamp rather than the overhead light, and a gentle glow lit the room. I drew Arthur into my arms and his shivering body came to rest against mine. He held onto me tight. I stroked his back and kissed him, gentle caresses, teasing his lips apart. He responded but he didn't get hard, and he continued to tremble. Eventually, he pulled away and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Then he laughed. He pressed his face against his knees and clamped his hands over his mouth, but his laughter wouldn't be held in.

"Arthur, it's okay." I sat up too and put my arms around him. "Don't get upset, there's nothing to worry about. It's just like any other night."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. His strangled laughter cut off and turned into tears. "I ruined everything. How can we ever be together when I'm like this?"

"We are together, Arthur." I cuddled him and stroked his hair. "I love you just the way you are. We don't need to do anything more than we already do."

He scrubbed his hands over his face impatiently and sniffed. "I want to, though. I think about it all the time, and I feel ridiculous that I'm nearly thirty-six and I'm still a virgin. I never thought I'd ever get the chance to be with someone and now I am, and I fuck it up."

"You haven't fucked anything up." I brushed my lips against his hot cheek. "Stop putting yourself under pressure to do what you think you should, or what you think I want. It's not that important. What's important, is that I'm here and I love you, and I'm not going anywhere."

Arthur stayed still and quiet for several minutes, his breathing slowing, and his body gradually stopping its quivering. I imagined him saying he just wanted to sleep, or even getting dressed again and going back to his own apartment. But eventually, he uncurled himself, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me.

It wasn't a peck on the lips—it was hot, passionate, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, lips crushing mine against my teeth. I kissed back, demanding, but at the same time letting him keep in control. He turned towards me, pushed me back onto the mattress, and leaned over me, continuing to kiss me until he had to stop to breathe. Cautiously, I slid my legs apart and guided him between them. I'd only been fucked once, but I liked it, and I occasionally—no, regularly—used a toy.

"Is this better?" I rested my hands on his hips and drew him down so he could feel how hard I was. His erection rubbed against mine.

"Um—" He shuffled around, shifting his weight onto his knees and elbows. "Is this what you want? I thought you wanted to fuck me."

"I like it both ways. Maybe you'll be more comfortable trying this way."

"Okay. But you'll have to guide me."

I pushed the bed covers back, then reached into the cabinet drawer for my supplies. I doubted Arthur knew how to put a condom on, so I ripped open the packet, got him to lift up a little, and deftly rolled it onto him. I'd had plenty of practise—my wife hadn't wanted children and she'd insisted I take responsibility for that, which I'd been only too glad to do.

I coated my fingers in lube and slid two inside myself. It didn't take long. I was eager, and plenty relaxed. I hadn't expected things to turn out like this, but I certainly had no qualms about Arthur taking the lead, or at least me topping from the bottom. I squeezed out more lube and slicked it onto his shaft. He groaned and thrust against my hand.

"I'll probably last five seconds." He grinned down at me.

"That's okay. I'll probably last five seconds with you in me." I guided him, one hand on his hip, the other pushing the tip of his erection against my entrance. "Push forward, slowly." I breathed out as he breached me, then stopped.

"It's too tight."

"It'll stretch. Keep going."

He pushed in, slow and steady, until his balls rested against me. He closed his eyes and groaned. "Does it hurt?"

"No, it doesn't hurt. It feels good."

"I daren't move. I'll come." He chuckled and opened his eyes again to meet mine.

"If you do, it's okay. We have all night."

Slowly, he began to move, awkward uneven thrusts at first, until he got into a steady rhythm. I arched my back a little, changing the angle so that he bumped my prostate. It had been a long time—probably three or four years. All that wasted time when I could have been with a man. But if I'd never got married and had found someone back then, I probably wouldn't know Arthur.

I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight as he quickened his pace, grunting and groaning his pleasure. "I love you, Arthur."

He came, his body shuddering in my arms, dick jerking inside me. I was almost there, but not close enough. My balls ached and my leaking dick twitched against his stomach in frustration, but I ignored it. This was about Arthur, not me. I stroked his back and kissed his cheek. He didn't move, his erection slowly softening until it began to slip from me. I reached down to grab the condom.

"You didn't come." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It doesn't always happen when you're getting fucked, unless you give yourself a hand."

"Oh." He grinned. "Sorry." He wrapped his hand around me and began to jerk me off, quick and hard. Thirty seconds, and I shot my load onto my chest.

I pulled Arthur down beside me and hugged him. "Are you okay?"

"Definitely. I'm sorry I got worked up. Next time, you can do it to me."

"Whatever you want."

"I love you, Rob. I don't know how I got this lucky." He snuggled against me.

I reached out to turn off the light, and within a few minutes we were falling asleep in each other's arms.

In the morning, we both woke hard. We stroked and sucked each other, then took turns in the bathroom. There was no rush to get ready for anything, so I ran a bath and we shared it. My tub was big enough for two, and Arthur sat between my knees, his back against my chest, soaking in hot water topped with orange-scented bubbles. I didn't often use bubble bath, but I'd bought some recently, imagining it would be fun to share a bath with Arthur one day.

We spent a lazy day together. Arthur went back to his apartment to change out of his suit, then we went shopping for groceries, ate lunch in a café, and relaxed in front of the TV in the afternoon. Cuddles quickly led to kissing and touching, and Arthur was reluctant to drag himself away to go to his party at four o'clock.

Afterwards, he came back and we spent the night together again, which I could see becoming a more and more regular occurrence. Sunday morning, I had to work. Arthur got up at the same time as I did and went back to his apartment. During my morning break, I was called into the manager's office, and something I hadn't thought of quickly smacked me between the eyes.

"Take a seat, Robert." Andrew Washington smiled pleasantly.

"Thank you." I sat down, wondering if I was about to be given an extra duty, or reprimanded for something. He didn't look annoyed.

"Your insurance transfer came through from City Hospital yesterday."

Instantly, I knew what it was about.

"You have an Arthur Fleck named as a—how shall I put this—dependent?"

"Um, yes."

"Relative?"

"No." My face began to heat up and I imagined I was probably scarlet.

"Partner?" Andrew's eyes twinkled, much to my surprise. "I have a male partner," he added.

"Oh! Well, yes, we're together. He has a councillor at City Hospital. He had social care prior to that, but the funding was cut."

Andrew nodded. "I know. The thing is, the transfer paperwork came through yesterday, and although we do have a scheme for spouses or partners, you're a new employee and this benefit isn't offered until after the six-month probation period."

I groaned. "I can't believe I didn't think about this when I changed jobs. And I'm surprised it's taken this long—"

"The paperwork can be very slow," Andrew interrupted. "We've had staff transfer in from City before. They can take up to a month to sort out their insurance."

"Can I pay to cover Arthur?" I asked.

"You can, or the charge can be taken out of your wages at source. What service does he need?"

"He has PDB and depression. He sees a councillor twice a week and he has a recurring prescription for anti-depressants. He also needed hospital care a few weeks ago after a suicide attempt."

"Ah. The person you mentioned when we first discussed your role here." He nodded. "How is he? After the suicide attempt."

"Better. We weren't together then, not really. A lot of the time, he's okay. He has a job as a party clown, he has his own apartment. He also performs as a stand-up comedian."

"He sounds to be coping very well with his condition. We can add him to your insurance. That won't be an issue."

"Please do that, and I'm happy for the charge to be taken out of my wages at source."

"You haven't asked the cost."

"It doesn't matter." I shook my head. I couldn't let Arthur's care be interrupted again. It would be bad enough for him having to transfer to a different carer after he'd just got used to Tom, which had been working well for him.

Andrew passed me a sheet of paper which detailed three levels of cover. The highest level would mean my wages would be less than I'd earned at City. "After my six-month probation, what happens then?" I asked.

"The cover will be included with yours, free of charge, assuming you stay with us."

"I'll be staying. Could you add Arthur at Level Three, please?"

"Certainly."

I heaved a sigh of relief. I would be hard up again for the next few months, but it would be worth it. Now I just had to tell Arthur about the change.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"I forgot to open my mail yesterday." Arthur picked up two letters from the kitchen counter. It was Sunday and we were both back from work—me from Arkham and him from a children's party. It was his turn to cook.

I glanced at the top letter, noting the City Hospital logo on the top. "Wait a minute. Don't open that yet." I took it from him and put it back on the counter.

He frowned. "Why not? It's my mail, Rob."

"It's about my insurance, I expect."

Arthur stared at me for a moment, then his eyes widened, and he gasped. "They cancelled me again! No, no, no, no. Fuck. This is because you changed jobs." He began to pace around the kitchen, wringing his hands.

I quickly caught him. "It's okay, Arthur. They didn't cancel you. I wouldn't let that happen. My insurance has been transferred from City to Arkham. You're still covered. The only problem is that you might have to see a different doctor. I only found out today at work. I completely forgot about it when I changed jobs. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm lucky I have this at all. When my social care was cancelled, I didn't have anyone. I only have Tom because of you."

"I'm not sure how it will work with mental health, but you may still be able to see Tom. For instance, if I broke my leg and needed surgery, I'd get that at City and that would be covered. Why don't we open the letter together?"

"You open it."

"It's your mail," I reminded him.

"It's not private from you. Please."

"Okay." I let go of him and swiftly opened the letter, quickly scanned down the three paragraphs, and heaved a sigh of relief. "It's okay, Arthur. It simply says your cover has been transferred to a policy with Arkham in association with me. It's the same level of cover, you'll get your appointments and your meds. You'll probably get another letter from Arkham—actually, what was that other letter?" I glanced at the counter where Arthur had placed the second envelope. Arkham didn't have large obvious logos on their envelopes, but there was a small printed address at the bottom which showed it was from them. "Do you want me to open this one too?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

I opened the second letter. "It details the new policy. Actually, it's higher cover because it includes dental work, which City's didn't. It says for non-emergency treatment you can go to a facility of your choice, so long as it's on the approved list, which City is. There shouldn't be any problem with you seeing Tom." Much to my relief, the letter didn't mention the fact that there was a cost involved. It was still my policy, so that would only be on my letter, I assumed. I handed the sheet of paper to Arthur. "Here, you read it."

He read it, and relaxed. "Thank you. I'm glad I don't have to see someone different again. I like Tom. Even if he tries to discourage me from being a comedian."

"Well, I don't think he will anymore, now you've done it and it went so well. Are you going to tell him about it tomorrow?"

Arthur nodded. "I can't believe that was only Friday night. It seems ages ago."

"Will you perform at Pogo's again?" I asked.

"Definitely. I'm working on some new material. I'd love to be on the Murray Franklin show one day. I don't suppose there's any chance of that, though." He sighed.

"You never know what will happen."

After dinner, we spent the evening cuddling and fooling around on Arthur's sofa. He seemed happy and relaxed, and eager to take things further again as soon as we didn't have an early start the following morning.

It was a reasonably good week. Arthur's two appointments with Tom went well, and Tom called me after Monday's meeting to check whether the performance at Pogo's went as well as Arthur said. "He admits he sometimes makes things up in his own head, so they seem better than reality," he told me.

"It went well," I confirmed. "I was there. He was very nervous and started laughing on stage, but he got it under control. Then he was amazing. A lot of people applauded, and they were laughing at his jokes, not at him."

"Oh! Well, that's good, and unexpected. Maybe this will do him good. So, you'll have had the transfer letter about your insurance?"

"Yes, I transferred Arthur at the same time."

"That must be costing you."

"Only for six months. He doesn't know that. It would upset him."

"I wouldn't say anything about it," Tom reassured me. "So, how do you like the new job?"

We chatted for a while longer and agreed to get together for a proper catch up in the not too distant future.

The rest of the week went pretty well. Arthur was relaxed and content when he was with me. He tried out some of his new material on me, which was hilarious, and planned to perform at Pogo's again the following Friday. Nothing bad happened that week to upset him, and we both had Sunday off work to look forward to spending together. When I returned home from Arkham on Saturday, I noticed Arthur's door was ajar, and before I had time to move more than two steps from the lift, he pulled the door wider.

"I've been waiting for you," he said. "Every time I heard the lift in the last fifteen minutes, I checked to see if it was you."

"You are keen." I went to him, closed the door behind us, and slid my arms around him.

"I missed you today."

"You mean you don't miss me usually?" I stuck out my bottom lip in an exaggerated look of dismay.

"Always. But more today." He flushed and pressed his lips to my ear to whisper. "I want to have sex."

I'd been thinking about it too. Every time we touched and sucked each other that week, which had been every day, I'd recalled how good it felt having him inside me and thought about doing it again.

"Like last time?" I said softly.

"No, the other way." He giggled and hid his hot face in my neck. "I've been practising. With my finger."

"Damn, that's hot," I groaned. My blood rapidly headed south as I pictured him in bed, naked, touching himself, pushing his finger inside himself and stroking his erection at the same time.

"I bought some supplies," Arthur said. "They're next to my bed." He laughed again. "The pharmacist looked shocked when I collected my meds and bought those too. He probably thinks I'm too much of a freak for anyone to want to do that with me."

"You're not a freak, Arthur. And if anyone thinks that, they're the crazy person." I let go of him with great reluctance. "What are you cooking? I can smell something tasty, and much as I want to take you to bed right now, I don't want the dinner to go to waste."

"It's stew. Just beef and potatoes, and some vegetables. It'll be ready in about ten minutes."

"I'll run back to my apartment and have a quick freshen up, get out of my work clothes," I told him. "Back in five."

I had the fastest scrub I'd had in my life, pulled on clean clothes, and hurried back to Arthur's apartment. The whole time, my half hard dick urged me to give it some attention, but other than a quick wash, I ignored it. I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen later and hoping Arthur would be okay with it.

The meal was delicious, and afterwards, I took the plates into the kitchen to wash. Arthur followed me, took them from me to dump them in the sink, and pressed himself against me. He was as hard as I was. "Leave them. They can wait."

"It seems you can't." I grinned and hugged him against me, then slid my hands down his back, paused a moment, and continued down to his ass. Much to my surprise, he reached behind him and guided my fingers between his buttocks. I stroked him through his clothes, dipping my fingers lower between his legs. He groaned and squirmed against me. "Oh, you like that, huh? Like me touching you here?"

"I never realised that could feel so good." He fumbled between us, unfastened his trousers, and shoved them and his underwear down around his thighs. "Do it again."

I licked my fingers and reached down to touch, spreading his cheeks so I could rub my thumb over his hole. His erection jerked against my thigh and he clutched at me, moaning his pleasure. "You are so sensitive there."

"Mm." He pressed his face into my neck. "More."

"I need the lube. Let's go to your room."

He groaned in frustration, then pulled away from me, tugged his pants up, and led the way to his room. Once there, he dragged off his clothes almost desperately, tossing items here and there rather than neatly folding each the way he usually did. His eagerness made me smile. I undressed quickly and joined him on the bed.

"Here." He handed me a tube of lube, partly used. "I, um, yeah, I used some." He flushed more, eyes sparkling.

"Hell, Arthur. You're turning me on so much."

"I hope so. I want you to fuck me."

"I will, but we need to take our time." I squeezed some of the slick onto my fingers. Arthur stretched out beside me, legs spread and knees up. His erection twitched against his belly, leaving smears of precome on his skin. His balls were pulled up tight, and his thighs quivered. I leaned over to kiss him, and was met with eager lips and tongue, his hands grasping at me, urging me on, guiding me to make use of my lubed fingers.

Gently, I circled his anus with one finger, slicking him up before I pressed at the centre and carefully pushed in. He panted into my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders as I probed deeper. Eventually, he turned his face from mine, gasping, and wrapped his hand around his dick. "Oh, God. Rob, I'm gonna—" He came hard, white ropes shooting across his chest. "Fuck. Sorry." He wiped his hand on the sheet. "I wanted that to last longer."

I withdrew my finger and slid my arms around him. "Don't worry, there's plenty of time. Don't be in too much of a rush."

He laughed, a normal laugh, not a nervous one. "I am in a rush. I want you so bad. I've been thinking about it all week. Imagining it when I touch myself."

"Trust me, I've been doing the same thing. You're so sexy, Arthur. You don't even know it."

"I'm not sexy." He giggled, eyes darkening.

"You are to me. Is this not proof enough?" I nudged him with my hard-on.

"Sorry. I'm getting all my fun and neglecting you." He moved down the bed and took me in his mouth before I could say another word. All I managed was a groan.

I came embarrassingly fast, making Arthur laugh after he finished swallowing. "Maybe I'm sexy after all, if you can't last any longer than me."

"Come here." I urged him back up the bed and held him close again. His erection rubbed against my stomach. "You're ready again?"

"Yeah. We haven't got to the main act yet." He sniggered and rolled his hips.

"You might have to give me a few minutes."

The few minutes ended up being half an hour. We talked and cuddled, kissed gently, then with growing urgency. Arthur stayed rock hard the entire time, and pretty soon I was in the same state. Arthur grabbed a condom from the cabinet, but I took it from him and put it aside.

"It'll be a little while before we need that. You're going to need some preparation."

"You didn't need much," he reminded me. "And you said you hadn't done it for a long time."

"But I use, um, I use a toy quite a bit."

"A toy? A dildo?"

I coughed. "Yes."

He went off into peals of laughter, genuinely amused laughter.

"I was alone a long time. I needed something."

His laughter reduced to a snigger. "Well, I need something now."

I picked up the lube again. "Get comfortable. I'm not rushing this."

He rolled onto his back, knees up and apart as before. Then his face flushed, and he put his hands over it. "Oh, God."

"Arthur? You okay?"

"Yes."

"You've gone shy." I leaned over him. "Move your hands." He moved his hands up, so they covered only his eyes. I brushed my lips over his. "Don't be shy. You like this." I kissed him again, caressing his lips with mine, while I reached down between his legs and stroked him.

He groaned and slid his arms around my neck. "Sorry. I'm stupid."

"You're not. Just enjoy. Let me take care of you." I slipped my finger into his tight heat, massaged gently, in and out, loosening him up until I could add a second digit. He whimpered and held onto me tighter. "Does that hurt?"

"No."

"Want me to stop?"

"No."

"Just relax and breathe." I curled my fingers up, searching for his prostate. His eyes flew open in shock. I grinned. "Feel good?"

"Shit!"

I took my time, gently fucking him with my fingers, adding more lube, until he squirmed impatiently, and began stroking my erection. I withdrew my fingers, put on the condom, and lubed myself up. Arthur watched me, serious and solemn.

I thought for a moment. "Lie on your side."

"Why?"

"It'll be easier for you, and there won't be any chance of you feeling trapped."

"You seem to know exactly what I need." He rolled away from me onto his side, legs slightly drawn up.

I spooned up behind him. "Of course I do. I love you. I pay attention. If you want me to stop, tell me, okay? If you don't like it, or it hurts, I'll stop."

"Mm hm."

"Relax, darling. Breathe." I guided myself, slowly, carefully, until the head of my dick slid in. He tensed, fist clenched on the bed in front of him. "Arthur?"

"Ow."

I withdrew.

"Don't stop."

"I hurt you."

"I'm too tense, that's all."

I kissed his ear. "Take a deep breath."

He breathed in, as if he were trying to suck all the air out of the room. I lined myself up again.

"Breathe out, long and slow, and let your whole body relax and go limp." He did so. Slowly, I pushed in, and it was easier. "That's it. Stay relaxed." I wrapped my arm around him and covered his hand with mine. On his next breath out, I moved my hips forward, filling him with a little over half of my length. He groaned. "Okay?"

"Yes." He turned his hand and threaded his fingers through mine. "Fuck me."

I began to move, slow and easy, not filling him completely. He moved with me, arching his back and rolling his head against my shoulder.

"I love you, Arthur." I tugged my hand free of his and reached down for his dick. His erection was gone, but it quickly grew again in my hand. I stroked him in time with the movement of our bodies, and he began to grunt his pleasure, bucking back against me with more enthusiasm.

"I love you," he panted.

He was such a beautiful person, inside and out. Holding him in my arms, making love to him, was more incredible than anything I'd ever experienced, and I could easily have come again in minutes. But I held back, coaxing him towards orgasm until he was on the brink, his body trembling in my arms and his erection thickening, throbbing in my hand. Then I thrust harder, pushing him over the edge. He came in my hand, his body jerking against mine, and his ass clenching tight around me. I filled the condom, gasping out my pleasure against his neck. Then, carefully, I withdrew and disposed of the rubber. Arthur turned over, back into my arms.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

"I feel—" He paused, searching for the words. "I feel like a normal person. Like a whole person. I always felt like something was missing. You really love me?"

"I love you," I repeated. "I've never felt like this about anyone before."

"You won't leave me?"

"Never." I hugged him tighter. "I'll never leave you, Arthur. I'm yours."

He let out a long sigh and tucked his face into my neck. "Love you," he whispered.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

When I opened my eyes again, I was still wrapped around Arthur, his back to my chest. He breathed deeply, still sleeping. I didn't move, not wanting to disturb him, but eventually my morning wood got the better of me and poked him. He stopped breathing for a moment, then laughed.

"I can feel you're awake."

"Sorry. I was trying not to disturb you."

"I don't mind." He nestled back against me. "I can feel your heart beating."

I kissed his ear. "I love waking up with you."

"I wish we could do it every day." He snorted and turned his face into the pillow. His ears reddened. "Forget I said that."

"Why? Changed your mind already?" I teased.

"It's too soon. I know that. Sorry. I just—" He paused. "You make me feel safe. I wake up with you, and I feel like everything will be okay. Even when it's not, you make it better."

"I love you, Arthur," I said. "I'll always be here to try to make it better."

We stayed in bed until hunger and the need for the bathroom drove us out of it. We had the whole day together, but the weather was terrible, and I was trying to hang onto the money I had left to tide me over for the next couple of months when I was short. After that, I'd have to really tighten my belt.

We went to Arthur's apartment and watched re-runs of Murray Franklin for a while. Arthur had tapes of many of the shows and he had his favourites. Later, he tried out some of his new material on me, which had me in stitches. His confidence in himself had grown after his performance at Pogo's, and he was looking forward to performing there again.

Later, we ran into Sophie in the corridor, on her way back from collecting one of her daughter's friends for the afternoon. The two little girls stared at us until Sophie opened her door and shooed them inside. "I'm sorry. So, how are you? I haven't seen you—either of you—for a while," she said.

"We're pretty good," I began.

"Excellent," Arthur added.

Sophie smiled. "You two are together, now, right?"

Arthur beamed from ear to ear and sniggered.

"I'm happy for you. Do you want to come in for some coffee? We meant to have a chat some time," she aimed at me.

"Oh, I'll, um, I can leave you to it." Arthur's smile vanished and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I meant you too, Arthur," Sophie said at once. "Please."

"Really?" He looked stunned that anyone other than me would invite him to their place for coffee. "Thank you. I'd like that."

We spent an hour with Sophie, chatting over coffee while her daughter and friend played a game in the bedroom. Then we returned to my apartment and I made us a meal. Not long after, we ended up in bed.

Arthur reluctantly returned to his apartment at eight so I could get an early night and be up for work the next day. But ten minutes later, he was back at my door, knocking incessantly until I opened it.

"Did you forget something?" I grinned at his bright beaming face.

"I had a message on my answering machine. You won't believe this. A woman called Shirley called. She's from Murray Franklin's booking office. He wants me to be on the show! I have to go on Thursday."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes! He really wants me on the show. Apparently, someone in Pogo's filmed me and Murray saw a clip of it and wanted to have me as a guest. I wonder what he saw. I bet it was the joke about the priest. Everybody laughed at that one. This could really launch my career."

I grinned and hugged him tight when he threw his arms around my neck. He was so excited, but I couldn't help worrying. Murray's shows were pre-recorded, but they were filmed with a live audience. If Arthur panicked and started laughing, hundreds of people could potentially see him in one of his worst moments. He'd hate it. Images of him lying on the floor covered in blood or squeezed into the refrigerator popped into my head. I tried to shut them out and instead, imagine him on stage with everyone applauding him, but I knew I would be terrified when he went on the show, in case it went wrong.

"Will you be there? Please? It's on Thursday." Arthur's face fell. "Oh, you'll be working. Your day off isn't Thursday."

"I'll swap. Don't worry, Arthur, I'll be there. Nothing will stop me being there," I averred.

When Arthur went to his appointment with Tom on Monday, he didn't mention being invited onto the show. He told me he talked about planning to perform at Pogo's again on Friday instead.

I arranged to swap my mid-week day off, so I was free on Thursday to go to the studios with Arthur. The show was to be filmed in the afternoon, and broadcast on television on Saturday evening.

Arthur practised every day and didn't seem worried at all until we were on the train heading into the city early on Thursday afternoon. Then he started to laugh. He laughed and coughed for most of the journey, then started to shake and cry when we alighted on the platform.

I steered him into a corner away from the main waiting area. "Arthur, take a deep breath. You're okay." I squeezed his shoulder. "You know you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. This is what I've always wanted. If I can hold it together when I get there, it's only fifteen minutes. I can do fifteen minutes." He took a deep breath, then another. "I'm okay. I'm just really scared."

"I'll be right there, as close as they'll let me be to the stage."

He nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. "I bet I look terrible."

"Your face is red, that's all. Don't worry. You'll have some time in the dressing room before you go on."

He smoothed down his dark red suit and made sure the knot in his tie was straight. He still looked scared and his eyes were wet, but he was as ready as he could be. I would have given anything to hold his hand as we walked out of the station and down the street to the studio, but I couldn't without drawing unwanted and probably cruel attention.

When we arrived, Arthur was shown a small dressing room where he could get himself ready and wait to be called. I was able to go with him, and when he went on stage, I could either go and sit in the audience, or watch from the nearby "green room" which had a large screen to watch the show on. I opted for the green room, deciding that I would be easily able to get to Arthur when he came off the stage if I was there, rather than surrounded by hundreds of people in the audience.

A few minutes after our arrival, the door opened and Murray Franklin himself came in, accompanied by someone who was probably a security guard.

Arthur leapt to his feet, beaming. "Hello, Murray!"

"It's Mr Franklin," the guard said sternly.

"Oh, it's fine." Murray smiled and shook Arthur's hand. "We're very pleased to have you on the show. Your video clip was very amusing."

"I'm glad you think so." Arthur put his hands behind his back and smiled proudly. "I've always wanted to be on the show. I almost feel like I know you. I never miss an episode."

"Well, thank you very much. You'll be the second guest, so relax here for a little while. When we're ready for you, someone will come and get you. And you—" he looked at me. "When Arthur goes out, you've been shown where to wait, I take it?"

"Yes, thank you," I said.

"Good. Good. Well, I'll see you out there, Arthur." Smirking, Murray left the room. I wasn't sure, but I got the feeling something wasn't quite right. I hoped Arthur would be okay and that he wouldn't lose his nerve on stage, but all I could do was be there for him.

The next twenty minutes crawled by. Arthur paced and fidgeted, constantly fiddled with his suit, and eventually pulled out a brand-new pack of cigarettes and lit one.

"I thought you quit." I frowned.

"I did. I'm not starting again. I just need one to calm my nerves." He proceeded to chain smoke five cigarettes, knees bouncing as he sat in the swivel chair in front of the mirror. Just as he was about to light a sixth, the door opened, and a woman came in.

"Hello, Arthur? I'm Shirley. We spoke on the phone."

"Oh! Yes, hello." Arthur crushed out the remains of his last cigarette and jumped up.

"It's time for you to go on. Robert, you know where to wait?"

"Yes, the green room." Before I had the chance to say anything more to Arthur, he was whisked away down the corridor.

"Shit." I hurried to the room I had been shown earlier. Only one other person was in there, seated on a sofa watching the big screen. I sat on a chair a little distance away, gave the man a quick nod, and fixed my gaze on the screen.

Murray rose from behind his desk to announce Arthur. "Our next guest is a local wannabe comedian. I was sent this video clip by a guest at Pogo's Comedy Club last week, and boy, did I laugh. Check this out, folks."

Much to my horror, the two screens above the stage flicked on, showing Arthur on stage at Pogo's, laughing hysterically.

"This joker seems to think if he laughs enough, everyone else will laugh, too." Murray snorted. The screens went black without showing any of Arthur's act. "The man himself is here today. Please welcome Arthur Fleck!"

The two screens flashed up with the word "Applause!" and the audience obediently clapped. I clenched my fists together in my lap and ground my teeth. Arthur would have heard what Murray had done, even if he couldn't see it. How must he be feeling right now? Murray had only invited him on the show to make fun of him.

Arthur appeared through the curtains to the rear of the stage. Much to my surprise, he performed a couple of dance moves, before confidently walking to Murray, shaking his offered hand, then taking the seat to the side of the desk. Murray sat down again.

"So, Arthur. You're a comedian. You know, comedians are supposed to make _other _people laugh. It's no good thinking you're funny, if no one else laughs."

"You bastard," I muttered.

Arthur coughed, but rather than break into hysterics, smiled sweetly. "I have a medical condition that means I laugh sometimes when I don't mean to. But laughter is the best medicine, of course. Unless you're diabetic. Then insulin comes pretty high on the list."

My mouth dropped open.

"That guy's a genius," the other man in the green room said, and chuckled. On screen, the audience laughed and clapped without being prompted by the screens, which remained dark.

"So, you have some sort of mental illness?" Murray asked, slightly perturbed.

"I'm afraid so. You know, if you suffer from a mental illness, it always helps to remember you're not alone. Unless the illness is schizophrenia."

The audience laughed louder.

"You're amazing," I whispered. "Keep going."

"Well, well. You seem to be quite the comic."

"Of course. Isn't that why you invited me here?" Arthur tilted his head to one side. "Don't you have any more clips from my performance at Pogo's? I'm sure the audience don't just want to see me laugh. What do you say, guys?" He turned to face the audience directly.

Cries of, "Yes!" came from several people in the crowd.

Arthur continued with a few of his jokes from Pogo's, until the audience were all laughing and clapping.

"Seems you have quite the talent there, Arthur," Murray said. "It seems we—no, I—owe you quite a large apology. That video clip was sent into me by a member of the public from Pogo's, but that's all they sent. Such a shame, because you're a funny man. Perhaps you could tell us all a little more about yourself."

Arthur candidly explained he genuinely did suffer from mental health issues and hadn't made that up for his act, in case anyone was wondering. He added that he was a party clown and wanted to pursue a career in stand-up comedy.

"Well, it seems to me you're a couple of rungs up the ladder already," Murray told him. "I'm afraid your time's almost up now, but I wish you the best of luck in the future. Perhaps you can come back some time soon."

When the audience finished clapping, Arthur moved to the sofa beside the previous guest, and Murray announced the third person on, a comedy writer. When her slot was over, a commercial break was announced, and the three guests left the stage.

I hurried out of the green room, met Arthur in the corridor, and took him back to the dressing room so I could pull him into my arms. "You were amazing!" I exclaimed. "I was horrified when I realised Murray meant to make fun of you, but you dealt with it like a pro and had the audience in the palm of your hand. I'm so proud of you."

Arthur beamed. "I was terrified. I heard him playing that clip before I went on stage. Any other time I would have started laughing. I don't know what happened. Those jokes just came out of my mouth instead. Do you think they really liked me?"

"The whole theatre was applauding," I told him. "They weren't prompted by the screens either. They laughed because you were funny."

"Maybe I can do this." Arthur pulled out of my arms. "I know I can do it. But now, I really want to go home. We need to celebrate."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"I can't believe that's me." Arthur sat on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the TV screen as we watched Murray Franklin on Saturday night. Arthur had just danced across the stage to greet Murray and taken his seat beside the desk.

"You were amazing," I told him.

"I didn't think I could do it. I thought it would be like Pogo's, and I'd just laugh and look like a fool." He stopped talking as the Arthur on screen joked about illness and insulin.

I slid my arm around him, and we watched the rest of the segment in silence, until the next guest came on. Arthur was taping the show, of course, so he could watch it over and over in the future.

"So, what's next?" I asked him.

"I'm going to call Pogo's on Monday and see if I can get a regular slot there. They always have room for extra people, so it shouldn't be hard. Maybe I'll invite Tom one night. And Sophie. Steve and Andy, too."

"They'll all love you."

A few minutes later, my phone rang, and it was Steve. "Hey, Rob. I just saw Arthur on the Murray Franklin show. He was so good! I didn't know that was in the pipeline."

"It was a bit of a surprise. Do you want to talk to him?" I passed the phone to Arthur and he chatted to Steve for a few minutes and invited him and Andy to come to Pogo's and see his next performance. His confidence had been given a huge boost by how well the TV show went.

On Monday, Arthur called Pogo's and secured a slot for every second Friday. When he returned from work that evening, he had more good news. Hoyt had asked him to perform stand-up at a party, with more pay than he would get for his party clown act. It wasn't something Ha-Ha's usually arranged, but after Arthur had told Murray on TV what he did for a living, Hoyt had received a call specifically asking for him.

A couple of weeks later, Steve, Andy, Sophie and I all watched Arthur at Pogo's. He didn't laugh once, but he got plenty of laughs from the audience. The day after that, he performed at the party he'd been booked for. He had a half-hour slot to fill, and he spent every spare minute practising and writing new jokes in his journal. I couldn't go to that and watch, but he told me he lost it briefly before he went in, then managed to pull it together. It went well, and someone attending the party had spoken to him after and asked him to do a similar act for their wife's birthday party.

The interest in Arthur after his TV appearance made a big difference to his outlook. He still had bad days—some very bad days when he couldn't drag himself out of bed, or some idiot on the train tormented him when he got nervous and laughed. But overall, he was more confident and more outgoing, in that he was keen to socialise with Sophie, Steve, and Andy—something else he'd never done before.

We slept together almost every night, mostly at Arthur's place due to me having to get up earlier than him for work. I already had a key to his apartment, so I would get up and creep out, often without disturbing him, but I always left him a note on the pillow. I often thought about us living together. It seemed silly to keep two apartments when we spent every minute together when we weren't at work. My finances were badly stretched due to the large chunk taken out of my salary for Arthur's insurance. I'd had to get a credit card just so I could buy him a Christmas present.

On Christmas morning, we woke up together in my bed and made love. Most of the time I topped, but sometimes he wanted to, and I loved it. Christmas Day was one such occasion. After we came down from our high, I reached under the bed for the small parcel I had hidden there.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur." I kissed his cheek and waited for him to open it.

"For me? Really?"

"Didn't you think I'd get you a present?" Grinning, I took it from his hands. "I can take it back."

"No! No, give!" He grabbed it back. "I was surprised. I've never had a Christmas present."

"Never?" My jaw dropped.

He shrugged. "When I was a kid, my mother's boyfriend controlled any money she had, and buying anything for me wasn't allowed. My clothes all came from charity and mostly didn't fit right. In the homes I was in, we just got Christmas dinner. There was no funding for gifts, or any inclination by the staff. Then the last years—well, my mother was sick. She never left the apartment. I never bought her anything either. After so many years not doing anything for Christmas, I never thought about it."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." He shrugged again. "It makes today extra special, because I have you and you gave me my first gift."

"You might not like it."

"I'll love it. You gave it to me," he said simply, and began to unwrap the box, carefully so as not to tear the paper. When he took the lid off the box to reveal the wristwatch with its leather strap, to replace the cheap, unreliable plastic one he'd worn since I met him, his eyes widened. "It's beautiful. This is really for me?"

"It is. Look at the back."

He took the watch out of the box and turned it over. I'd had the back engraved with "For my Arthur. Love always, Rob."

Arthur started to laugh.

"Hey, come on, none of that." I slid my arms around him. "Stop. Don't get upset."

It took him a minute to catch his breath and stop choking. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I feel so bad. I didn't get you a gift. I didn't know I should. And you got me something so special."

"You are special, Arthur. I love you. There's nothing to worry about. I don't expect gifts."

"Well, you should. And I'll get you a gift for every Christmas and birthday in the future. We will be together next Christmas, won't we?" His eyes went wide, and his mouth turned down at the corners.

"Of course we will. There's something I wanted to ask you actually. Something you hinted at a while ago, that I've been thinking about since before then. How would you like to move in with me? Or me move in with you? Either, whichever you prefer."

"You want to live with me?"

"Yes, I do, Arthur. I love you. I want to be with you every minute. We spend virtually every night together anyway. But I want us to have just one place together, with all our things in, that we call _our_ home. What do you think?"

He smiled. "I want that. I've wanted that for a long time."

"I know."

"Which apartment would we live in?"

"That's up to you. If you want to stay in yours, I don't mind moving."

"I don't want mine. It's still full of my mother's stuff, and even after the cleaning and painting and all this time, I can still smell smoke from the fire. And it has the fridge. Your fridge is too small to get in," he said practically.

"All right. After the New Year, how about you give up your place? We can move all your stuff to mine before then, of course. And then in a few months' time, we could look for somewhere nicer. With only one set of bills between us, we'd be able to afford to leave this crappy building."

"I never thought I'd ever get the chance to leave." He sighed. "I imagined still being here when I'm seventy, if I even lived that long."

"It's settled, then. A couple of weeks from now, you won't have to ever come back here again."

The next day, we started moving things. I had to work half a shift in the morning, but in the afternoon, we moved all of Arthur's clothes and personal items to my apartment, and bagged up all of the things that had been his mother's, to either go to a charity, or in the garbage. The day after that, we arranged for a charity to collect anything they wanted from the apartment that didn't belong with it, and then it was done. As soon as the holiday period was over, Arthur spoke to the agents and returned his keys. After Christmas Day, he hadn't slept in his place again.

Immediately, the financial pressure lifted from my shoulders. Arthur diligently worked through all the bills with me and insisted on paying exactly half of the rent, the service charges, and everything else. We took turns buying the groceries and had plenty of money left over each month. Arthur was earning more with regular bookings for stand-up at parties in addition to his usual party clown act.

We each put aside some money every month to save for a new place and spent a small amount when we had coinciding days off, so we could take trips out of the city, go out dancing at the club with Steven and Andy. We even went to a Murray Franklin show and sat in the audience.

Arthur kept seeing Tom twice a week and kept up his medication, although eventually the dosage was reduced again. As soon as my six-month probation period at Arkham was over, my monthly income increased dramatically when I didn't have to pay for Arthur's insurance anymore. I put the extra amount into savings so that by the summer, we could start looking for a nicer place to move to.

November 30th was a Monday. Arthur and I had been together over a year, and finally it was moving day. We had the keys to our new apartment on the north side of the city, and a truck waited outside while two burly guys began carrying our belongings out to the lift in batches.

The new apartment was on the fourth floor of a five-year-old block in a gated area. There was very little crime, few rough elements, no dirt and rubbish lying around. Cars were safe outside and for the first time in my life I considered I might get one eventually. I got my licence when I was eighteen but had always thought it was pointless. Trains and buses were a lot cheaper, and when I moved to the city, I would never have risked having one. The areas I'd lived in weren't ideal for parking a car due to expense and danger. You'd be lucky to find your vehicle undamaged if left in the street at night.

The prospect of the move had plunged Arthur into panic. Moving along the corridor to my apartment hadn't been an issue. But this was a much bigger operation. We were moving almost six miles away, to a completely new area. Everything was unfamiliar, and right now, all our belongings were being taken away by strangers.

Arthur laughed hysterically and smashed his head into the bathroom door—something he hadn't done in months. I went to him and drew him away from the door before he could do it again.

"Hey, come on. It's okay." I steered him into the kitchen, out of the way of the movers. One eyed us suspiciously as Arthur carried on laughing wildly.

"Jeez, that guy should be in Arkham," he muttered to his companion. I didn't think Arthur heard the comment, but I did.

"Get on with your job!" I growled over my shoulder and closed the kitchen door to separate us from them. "Arthur, look at me." I gripped his upper arms. "Take a breath. Everything's okay."

"They're—ha, ha, ha—our things!" He wrenched free of me and paced up and down, wringing his hands, then dragging them through his hair. A tuft came out in his hand, and abruptly his laughter turned to tears. He covered his face with both hands and sobbed.

"Arthur, stop. It's all okay. I'm here." I caught him again and drew him into my arms. "Our things will all be on their way to our new place soon. We're not losing them."

"I know," he wept. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm making a scene. Those guys will think I'm crazy."

"The hell with them. They're here to do a job for us, that's all." I rubbed my hands up and down his back, and gradually he stopped shaking.

"I don't want to be here," he said.

"I have an idea. Come with me." I took his hand and opened the door. The two guys, who were in the process of carrying my sofa outside, stared at us with mild looks of revulsion on their faces. I ignored them and led Arthur down the corridor to Sophie's apartment. I knocked on the door, and she opened it a moment later.

"Hello, you two." She looked at Arthur. "What's wrong?"

"The moving guys are here." I didn't need to say anymore. Sophie had got to know us well over the past few months and had witnessed a couple of Arthur's upset episodes.

"Come in." She took Arthur's arm and tugged him into the apartment. "I'll make us some tea. There's a fresh cake just out of the oven, too. Nice plain vanilla, your favourite."

"Thanks, Sophie." I left them to it and went back to my place.

"Not a word," I said to one of the moving guys, as he opened his mouth to speak. He shut it again and got on with his job.

About ninety minutes later, everything that was being taken to the new place was loaded in the truck, and I went to get Arthur. He and Sophie were watching a tape of the Murray Franklin show—the episode Arthur had been on. He was calm and tucking into what he told me was his third slice of cake.

Over the past year, Arthur had gained about thirty pounds and he looked amazing. His skin was healthy, his body well-toned from using the small set of weights I had, and overall, he looked younger. Eating with me had made a huge difference to his relationship with food. He struggled with it to begin with, but mostly he copied me and if I ate, he did the same. Sophie, Tom, and Steven and Andy had all commented on how good he looked, and it made him feel good about himself.

Now, we travelled down in the lift for the last time—at least it would be the last time we'd leave that old apartment. We'd come back to visit Sophie now and again. We headed for the train while the moving guys drove the truck through the city to our new place. We all arrived around the same time, and they began to unload while Arthur and I went up and unlocked the door.

Arthur went straight into the bedroom and closed the door. The window in there had a great view, and if you looked hard enough on a clear day, you got a glimpse of greenery and a river between the buildings. Arthur stayed there while everything was brought up and placed in our new living room and kitchen. I told the guys to leave the bedroom things in the living room and that I'd move them later myself. They seemed relieved not to have to run into Arthur again, and quickly left as soon as the last box was deposited on the floor.

Immediately, I opened the bedroom door. Arthur stood with his hands on the sill, staring out at the distant river.

"They've gone, darling." I wrapped my arms around him from behind and rested my cheek against his.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's okay."

"Maybe we can go and see the river someday soon," he said. "It looks like a nice place for a picnic."

"We could do that at the weekend. I'm sure there must be a bus or something that goes that way. There might even be a way to go down the river on a boat."

"I'd like that."

I kissed his ear. "I love you so much, Arthur."

"I love you, too."

"I have something for you." I removed my arm from his waist and slid my hand into my pocket. I'd been waiting for the right moment for a while, and this was it.

"What is it?" He turned his head to look at me.

I covered his left hand with mine, where it lay on the sill, and slid the silver ring onto his third finger. "We can't do this properly; the law won't let us. Maybe one day things will be different. But for now, I want you to know you're mine, always, and I'm yours. This ring is a symbol of my devotion to you."

Arthur lifted his hand to look at the ring, amazed. "You want to marry me?"

"Yes. It can't be official, but to us it's real."

Arthur turned around, put his arms around my shoulders, and pressed his face into my neck. "Thank you, Rob. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'll get one for you, too."

I hugged him tighter and we stood there together by the window, silent, each thinking of our future. For the first time in my life I was truly happy, all because I helped a clown on a train.


End file.
